Starting Anew
by DeathBySpoon09
Summary: Post Battle of Five Armies, the story of Legolas's journey north to find the ranger known as 'Strider'. Essentially how Legolas met Aragorn. Featured characters include: Tauriel, Elladan, Elrohir, Bilbo, Balin, Dis, Dain, Thranduil and a host of OCs. Reviews are Precioussssssss... ;-)
1. Chapter 1

There was a chill in the breeze as it stirred up the fallen leaves which carpeted the old forest track. Gnarled, grey-barked trees crouched over the path from either side, but they were not threatening as some parts of the Greenwood had grown to be in recent decades. The pale golden light of a late winter sun gave everything a bright, crisp air and told those who cared to notice that spring would not be long in coming.

Having passed through bare and quiet lands alone, the presence of trees once again brought a sense of companionship to the rider as he passed. The hills between Weathertop and Rivendell seemed empty, the orcs who only recently prowled these parts spent in the war in the east. Even the journey across the Misty Mountains had been uneventful, the goblins having retreated far into the underground tunnels in the wake of defeat. It had made for such a quiet month that the traveler would not have even minded a few stray orcs to kill on the road.

The quiet was both cathartic and oppressive. It had been many years since last Legolas had been this alone. Even in the depths of the Greenwood, there were usually always a handful of elves present at his side when out on patrol. If not a patrol, then at very least Tauriel had always been with him.

Tauriel. Her name had come unbidden to his mind once again, and Legolas did not shy away from the pain it brought in its wake. Even if he had been alone on the road these past few weeks, the red-haired elf captain had never left his mind. For many years, the prince of the Woodland Realm had silently grown his feelings of friendship toward Tauriel into something more. Duty to his father and to his people had occupied his time though, and never had he found what he told himself would be the opportune moment to confess his feelings to his captain. In truth though, Legolas had been nervous. Knowing the pain that lost love could bring, having seen firsthand what the death of his mother did to his father, Legolas had been unsure of taking such a plunge.

By the time he had been even close to ready to speak his heart, it had been too late. The dwarf had been dropped into their lives like a stone in a pond, the ripples he created spreading ever outward. Even though the son of Durin was now dead, watching Tauriel mourn Kili had been enough to tell Legolas all he needed to know; the coveted place of love in the Silvan elf's heart was not his to claim.

His own heart breaking, Legolas had turned from the scene of grief on Ravenhill. Never had he ever fled from a fight; now he had to flee from this lost battle. Only the sudden arrival of his father the king had given him pause. The last time Legolas had spoken to Thranduil, he had challenged his own father to kill him if he brought harm to Tauriel. That was how deep his feelings for her had run. Thranduil saw the pain in his son's eyes, and did not even attempt to convince him otherwise when Legolas had declared that he could not go back to the Greenwood. Instead, Thranduil had advised him to go north, there to seek out a ranger by the name of Strider.

Having no other plan in mind, Legolas had taken his father's advice. Stopping in Mirkwood only long enough to pack some travel necessities and obtain a horse, he had set out on the old forest road before any of his people could even begin returning from Erebor. Leaving his homeland behind, the prince of the Woodland Realm set out on his self-imposed exile.

Now, many hundreds of leagues from his father, from Erebor and from Tauriel, Legolas still could not quite begin to free himself from their presences. His horse set a plodding, unconcerned pace down the forest road, the track beginning to incline as they entered the foothills of the land of Fornost. The Shire was not far from here, and for a moment Legolas wondered at the country of the Halfling who had been so instrumental to events at the Battle of Five Armies. Were all the folk in that land just as hearty and genuine, or was Bilbo Baggins the exception to a rule? Putting aside his curiosity though, Legolas took a closer look around at the wintery trees. He had a task to accomplish, here in the north. He would meet this Strider, and in time uncover his true name. It had seemed of some importance to his father that Legolas should.

Movement in the brush nearly startled Legolas. He must have been lost in thought indeed, to allow anything to get so close without notice! Hands moving almost too fast to follow, Legolas flipped back the grey hood of his cloak and drew his bow, loading an arrow on the bowstring. Whatever was crouching in the bracken was not alone though, and the sound of creaking bows filled the elf's sensitive ears from all around.

"You have entered Dunedain lands, stranger, and will go no further without leave of our lord."

The voice was rough and most definitely human, coming from somewhere behind Legolas. About eleven feet slightly to the left, from the sound of it. Feeling the prickling of at least a dozen eyes on him, Legolas saw no point in getting off on the wrong foot with these mortals. Relaxing his bow, he lifted it in one hand and held the other aloft empty.

"That is fortunate news then, for it is the Dunedain whom I have come seeking." He spoke clearly, picking out with more definition the shapes of cloaked figures all around.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind. Then one of the rangers stepped forward, his bow lowered but still drawn. Even with his hood up, Legolas could pick out a stubbly brown chin and long nose on the shadowed face.

"And what business would an elf have with us?" It was the same man who had spoken before, pronouncing Legolas a stranger.

That did give the elf prince just a slight moment of pause. In truth, he did not really know what his business with the ranger Strider was. All he knew was that he had to not only meet him, but gain his trust enough to uncover his true name. So, he opted to keep to a more general explanation for the time being.

"I come from the Greenwood as an emissary to my people. We know of the toils of your people to keep back the tide of orcs from the north. I offer one of your own by the name of Strider my bow in service against these evils." Catching the beginnings of doubt on the ranger's face before him, he added on something to make himself more believable. "In doing so, I intend to report back to my king of the movements of the enemy in these lands."

The bearded ranger looked Legolas over slowly, from head to toe. The close scrutiny was not unexpected, and Legolas remained as still as carven statue throughout this inspection. Even his horse, sensing the unbroken tension in the air stood unmoving.

Finally the man spoke again. "I can hardly believe you've crossed the Misty Mountains all the way from the Greenwood, elf."

At that Legolas bristled. His honor did not take kindly to being called a liar. "You doubt my truthfulness?" He demanded, unable to keep the beginning of an edge off his otherwise smooth voice.

Before the ranger could answer, another one of the Dunedain stepped forward and held up a hand. Dropping his hood, Legolas wondered that one as young as he seemed to hold a position of respect among these people. He was quite rough looking, with unruly black hair and unshaven cheeks. When he looked up at Legolas though, the ranger's bright blue eyes, filled with wisdom and humor instantly caught the elf's attention.

"Peace, my good elf. Beringil is merely teasing you." This young man too looked Legolas up and down, but this gaze was more friendly than challenging. "After all, none of us can believe that anyone could come such a long ways and still look so well-kept!"

A chorus of laughter rose from the brush all around, and for a moment the thought occurred to the proud elf prince that these mortals were having a joke at his expense. Seeing the sparkle in the young ranger's blue eyes and the smile on his face though, Legolas finally could only shrug helplessly and chuckle as well.

Seeing the elf laugh, the rangers took it as a signal to step out into view, their bows relaxed and arrows returning to their quivers. The blue-eyed ranger approached Legolas and reached up to offer him his hand in greeting.

"If it is Strider whom you seek, then look no farther. I am called Strider, and these rangers are my people. We can always use a good bow when it comes to fighting orcs; consider your offer of service accepted."

Accepting Strider's hand and clasping it, Legolas was almost surprised to find himself completely at ease already. This could be the beginning of something good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay okay okay...you lovely readers win! _ After watching the Favorites and Follows for 'Starting Anew' just keep climbing since it was first posted, I should have known you all would eventually convince me to write another chapter. Just for the sake of book-purists: YES, I know that Aragorn's age here does not match what he would actually be at this point in time. So sue me, this is post-Battle of Five Armies, and its fun to write lol. **

**Enjoy!  
>~DeathBySpoon09<strong>

With more than a dozen rangers at his side, front and back, Legolas was accompanied along forest paths almost as dense as what the Greenwood could boast. The foothills of Fornost were not a gentle country, and the winter only made them appear less cheerful. As their paths led the rangers and their elven guest higher and higher, the air became even thinner and the wind more biting.

These conditions hardly seemed to faze the rangers who called these lands home, much to Legolas's surprise. Most mortals would have been shivering in their boots and chattering their teeth with temperatures half as uncomfortable as this. The men of the Dunedain bloodline were hardy though, and spoke easily amongst each other with puffs of clouded breath. For the most part Legolas stayed silent and listened as he walked, his horse's chin occasionally reaching forward as if to nuzzle him reassuringly on the back of the shoulder. The gestures warmed the elf, and he smiled inwardly at the thought that he at least had one friend with him as they entered this strange new land.

It seemed that Legolas's horse was not the only one with an eye toward him though. The Sindarin prince could feel the eyes of the Dunedain all over his hooded back, constantly alert to his every step. Their leader, the young man by the name of Strider may have greeted him as a friend and bid him welcome, but that certainly did not mean these wary mortals intended to let their guards down. It felt strange to Legolas to be under surveillance like an unknown curiosity; he was quite used to being recognized everywhere he went for the past millennium of his life. When not among the elves of the Woodland Realm he was only ever found as far from his father's halls as Laketown, where the people knew him well enough as Thranduil's son. For the first time ever Legolas could be known as nobody but himself, and clearly would have to start from the ground up in building trust with these rangers.

For the entire duration of the journey to the Dunedain village no one sought to engage Legolas in further conversation, and he likewise held his tongue. Blue-eyed and dark-haired Strider walked near the head of their column, shoulder to shoulder with the man Beringil whom Legolas had thought to have doubted his truthfulness earlier. Rather than speak, Legolas took the time to observe this young human.

The man was no older than twenty, if that even. His beard was little more than dark stubble across his cheeks and chin, but it suited to make him appear older than he probably was. No doubt about it, there was something extraordinary in the way in which this ranger carried himself; something fluid and proud which set him about from the rolling gaits of his companions. Narrowing his eyes, Legolas thought hard but could not quite put a finger on what it was. With an invisible shrug, he resolved himself to put a name to it sooner rather than later. For that matter, he was resolved to put a true name to this Strider eventually as well.

When they entered the borders of the village of thatched huts, the families of the Dunedain came out to greet their returning patrol by the dozens. When the others realized their rangers had brought back a guest such as Legolas with them the general buzz of welcome turned to more wondering undertones. Even in his dark gray travelling cloak, Legolas stood out like a rose among sweet peas. Children openly pointed at him, causing the elf to mull over the choice between smiling at them or raising an imperious eyebrow. The later smacked strongly of his father and Legolas opted for the first.

Smiling broadly at the children and greeting the women and men-folk of the village alike, Strider was clearly a figure both revered and beloved by these people. There seemed to be no chieftain or lord to greet their party's return, and judging by the way the Dunedain were treating Strider he appeared to fill that role. This again puzzled Legolas, and he wondered that these people would readily follow one so young. Then again, he supposed that if Thranduil were to have fallen in battle, it would have been no question at all of the elves of the Greenwood taking Legolas as their king. As far as the reckoning of the Eldar went, Legolas was not much older than this Strider.

Shaking himself inwardly, Legolas thanked the Valar that his father was even now returned to their cavernous home to take up his throne once again. Considering all that had recently unfolded with Tauriel and the Battle of Five Armies, Legolas doubted his heart could have handled the loss of Thranduil and the subsequent kingship. Two broken hearts would not a very effective partnership make between a ruler and his Captain, even one so capable as Tauriel. No, it was far better that they both take the years needed to heal apart from one another. With the dwarf now dead, Legolas had seen in Tauriel's eyes that she did not want him to witness her grief anymore than he wanted to witness it himself.

Legolas was shaken out of his brooding thoughts when Strider turned from his welcoming committee and addressed him for all to hear. "And see here! We are joined by an elf come all the way across the mountains from the Greenwood itself. Please friend, tell us your name that we might greet you properly?"

All during the long journey here, Legolas had wondered about this moment. Should he return the favor of not knowing Strider's name by giving a pseudonym of his own, and in doing so not risk any chance that he would be recognized as the son of King Thranduil? Or should he be truthful from the very beginning with this mysterious ranger captain?

Strider's eyes flickered with a deeper knowledge at the elf's hesitation, and even more so when he made his choice and introduced himself.

"My name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm. Well met to you and your people." He placed a hand to his breast and bowed his chin in an elvish style of greeting. Yet again, the reflexive manner in which Strider mirrored the gesture pricked at Legolas's mind.

"Well met Legolas. We are honored to have you with us, and I look forward to drawing bows with you." With a glance around at the rangers where they still stood gathered in the village square, Strider winked. "But hopefully not too soon; we have been long in the wilderness, and could use a peaceful night's rest I think." The other rangers grinned toothily in agreement, and Strider waved a hand at them. "Let us go now and prepare for dinner...I can smell something excellent cooking on the air even from here!"

The women laughed appreciatively, and just like that the crowd began to disperse. Hesitating, Legolas had to look to Strider for his cue. He assumed he would likely be asked to bed down in a main hall of some sort, and in truth didn't mind the idea since a reverie could be achieved anywhere so long as it was mostly quiet. The notoriety of humans for snoring did somewhat worry him though.

As if reading his thoughts, Strider smiled and gestured toward a small house set slightly apart from the others. "Come. You are not the first elf to have paid us a visit, and we have quarters for you." When Legolas looked at him questioning, the ranger elaborated. "The sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell often join us in the constant task of keeping these lands clear of foul creatures. They are not here presently, and so their cabin is yours."

As Legolas followed Strider toward a paddock to stable his horse, he wondered at these strange people. King Thranduil kept his folk close, and his son closest of all. That Lord Elrond would be sending his sons north to fight alongside the Dunedain must have extremely important implications. Adding this detail to the growing list of clues in the mystery surrounding Strider's identity, Legolas found himself actually curious now.

Who was this Strider, truly?


	3. Chapter 3

**I had a request for some more Tauriel in this chapter, so I decided to make it a flash-back. Sorry, but unless I start splitting viewpoints and give Tauriel her own chapter in Mirkwood(?) there really isn't a good way to work her in real-time.**

**Haha poor Leggy is really in for it this chapter! The Dunedain women are just as formidable as their men-folk, and just as prone to get our favorite elfling into interesting situations. I love writing about the culture shock I'm sure Legolas experienced living among mortals for the first time ever in his life...**

Having stored what few belongings he had brought with him on the shelves of the Rivendell elves' cabin, Legolas took a moment to sit and center himself. The bed on which he was sitting seemed comfortable enough, having been made up with the woven blankets he had found in a chest beneath it. Its twin, unmade and unused looked almost lonely on the other side of the small room. There was a tiny hearth at the far end of the room, thoroughly swept out after the previous tenants of the cabin had last left. The coolness of the air inside did not bother the elf though, and he decided against lighting a fire for the moment. Perhaps later.

Instead, Legolas picked up one of the handful of personal items he had brought with him on this sojourn of undefined length. It was a dagger, small but extremely well crafted. Its blade glinted with a rippled light in the dimness of the room. The reason this particular item fell under the category of personal rather than practical items (although he supposed it fit the later as well) was because of where, or rather _whom_ it came from.

He remembered that Solstice like it was yesterday...

_"For you, ernil-nin. In honor of the longest night before the coming of spring." Tauriel had smiled warmly at him as she passed him the wrapped parcel. Without her usual armor and her long red hair shining like amber in the candlelight of the Grand Hall, Legolas was fairly certain that was the moment he had first started thinking of her as more than just a Captain of the Guard. _

_"Le hannon Tauriel, but it wasn't necessary for you to get me a gift." Still, Legolas had accepted the offered present with a gracious nod and a smile. "Isn't that usually a tradition reserved for friends and family?" _

_Tauriel's dark eyes had twinkled as she raised an eyebrow. "I had thought that perhaps after so many years serving together as warriors of the king, you and I could call one another 'Mellon'." The she-elf's voice took on a hint of teasing. "Or was I mistaken?" _

_The game was up. With a slightly guilty wince, Legolas had reached behind the statue between himself and the wall to produce his own carefully-wrapped gift for Tauriel. The Silvan elf always seemed to think his own thoughts just a half second before he did himself. _

_"Happy Solstice, mellon-nin." _

A nock sounded on the cabin door, and Legolas set the dagger down on the bed before rising to answer it. He was surprised to find a tall girl-child standing on the threshold, staring up at him with wide blue eyes. She looked about twelve years of age by mortal reckonings, but then Legolas was not very practiced at guessing the age of human children.

"Strider said to tell you that you're welcome to join everyone in the main hall for dinner." The girl's voice was high and squeaky with excitement. "We've roasted pheasants tonight, and there's toasted bread with butter too. Oh, and mead!" Clearly this young one had had some hand in helping to prepare the food, judging by how she was fairly bursting with pride to tell him about dinner.

Far be it from Legolas to turn away such an earnest invite. With a half-smile, he got a sudden idea into his head to humor his young hostess. "I would be honored to accept such an invite." The prince said in his best courtly tone. "May I escort you to dinner, my lady?" With a short bow, he offered out a bent arm to her.

The girl fairly fainted with glee, and by the time she had tugged him across the yard to the large wooden building which served as the town's main hall she was almost bouncing with every step.

What Legolas hadn't counted on though was the reception they would get once they crossed over the threshold into the large building filled with loudly talking bodies and the scent of meat cooking. The folk who noticed the elf with the girl-child hanging on his arm immediately erupted into a barrage of good-natured teasing.

"Why Gelwin, what a fine escort you've found yourself! Did you braid his hair for him before you came?"

"Isn't he a little old for ya girl? Still, ya have good taste!"

If the girl had been flushed before, by this time she was a shade of red that could have put most of Thranduil's wines to shame. With a squeak, she dropped Legolas's arm and dashed away among the crowd towards what looked like her friends. The mirth from the gathered Dunedain fairly shook the walls, but none of it was mocking so Legolas bore it as best he could. Clearly human humor had less to do with carefully the constructed wit and wordplay that elves favored and was more situational in nature.

Spotting Strider standing by the large fire pit in the center of the room with a group of other ranger around him, Legolas wove his way through the human throng like a dancer. The scent of mortals was all throughout this place. Before he could get all the way to his destination though, he found his path blocked by a woman nearly as tall as himself or any of the Dunedain men. She wore a kirtle spattered with the gore of cooking meat, but Legolas's sharp eyes didn't miss the bowstring calluses on her fingers when she thrust a wooden plate of peasant breast toward him.

"Didn't you manage to hunt anything on the journey here?!" With her long black braid swishing, the woman shook her head to ward off any words of thanks or refusal. "Food first, then talk." With a wily glance over her shoulder, she looked back to Legolas and winked. "Strider asked you to join us for dinner, so I'll bet he'll still be there when you're finished with that."

Before Legolas could even get a word out, the raven-haired warrior/cook was already back to work at the spit slicing more pieces of pheasant off for the hungry townsfolk and rangers. Resolving to no longer be fazed by the sudden, outgoing nature of mortals, Legolas sniffed the aroma of roasted bird that was rising from the dish in his hand and decided that eating was not such a bad idea after all. Now that he thought about it, it had been almost uncomfortably long since his last meal out on the road.

As the prince of the Woodland Realm was sampling the first few bites of his dinner, many pairs of eyes subtly watched him from around the room. The Dunedain were both cautious and guardedly curious about this new arrival. After so many years of their constant visits, they were all quite used to Elrond's twin sons Elladan and Elrohir. The pair seemed to move and act almost a unit, and their midnight black heads could always be seen close together in the crowd of the main hall. Everyone knew them, even when they would be away for as much as two or even five years. The twins meshed easily with their human hosts and would often even join in on the raucous conversations and jesting.

Legolas's silvery blond hair stood out among the dark crowd of northerners like a beacon, and the fact that this was his first day here was obvious even if he hadn't been trying to stand quietly by himself to eat his meal. It was an informative evening for Strider's folk though; many of them had never seen other elves before and assumed most of their folk to be similar to Elladan and Elrohir in both manner and appearance. Watching this elf from the Greenwood gave them much to consider. However, the real test would come later. The way to any man's heart may be through his stomach, but the way to any Dunedain's trust is through battle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Yay, Leggy is finally starting to make friends among the Dunedain! It'll take some work, but I'm writing this story essentially as an explanation as to how our beloved elf become more cheerful and laid back by the time of The Fellowship (because Hobbit!Legolas is a grouch with a stick up his butt and we all know it...)**  
><strong>How do I know how old Strider is in this chapter? Because in the LOTR he's 87 according to Jackson, and there's 60 years between The Hobbit and LOTR. <strong>  
><strong>Maths for the win lol. <strong>

The sun outside the main hall was setting, but inside the roaring fire pit cast golden shadows across the faces of the Dunedain. The evening meal since finished, the time for flagons of mead and ale to be passed around was greeted with a relaxed, well-fed atmosphere. All around men and women alike sat on carven benches with their drinks in hand, and the earthy scent of smoke from pipes began to seep through the air.

It was not a scent that Legolas was well-accustomed to, nor particularly fond of. Fighting the urge to cough, the Sindarin prince decided that he had waited long enough to approach Strider. Politely refusing an offered flagon of what looked like mead, he walked carefully around and between the humans either seated or standing talking in groups.

Strider was standing leaning against one of the large wooden pillars that supported an upper level to the hall. His keen eyes marked the elf's approach even from across the room, and by the time Legolas was within speaking distance he was already excusing himself from the small cluster of rangers nearby.

"I trust you are settled in and have eaten and drunk your fill?" The young man asked with the amiable inquisitiveness of a good host.

Legolas inclined his chin in confirmation. "Yes, and I thank you for both the quarters and the excellent dinner."

Waving a hand toward one of the empty benches, Strider indicated that they should be seated. Pleasantries exchanged, it seemed they both had a fair few questions for one another.

"Having come from the Greenwood, you must have news of recent happenings in the East." Strider spoke conversationally, but was clearly probing with his measured words. "Word has reached us of a great battle; a battle involving five armies?" Those clear blue eyes seemed to regard Legolas with knowledge that by rights the elf knew he couldn't possibly possess. It felt like he was an open book being perused with ease, a situation completely the opposite of the norm. Usually Legolas liked to keep his emotions played close to the chest, and was notorious even among his own people for being hard to read.

Knowing that every word he spoke would carry more weight than even he intended it to, Legolas chose his answer carefully. It would be all too easy to betray his own secrets with the wrong snippets of information given.

"The Battle of the Five Armies, as it is already being called." He confirmed. "Thorin Oakenshield, grandson of King Thror sought to re-take Erebor, and in doing so roused the dragon Smaug from his slumber. Our people left our forest halls and ventured forth in strength of arms at the command of the king, seeking to settle an old debt owed from the hoard beneath the mountain..."

It was a long story, told from when first the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had set out for the Lonely Mountain. Legolas recounted it to Strider with as much detail as he figured the ranger ought to know. By the time he finished his tale, concluding with the defeat of Azog and the crowing of Dain Ironfoot, Strider was sitting thoughtfully with his flagon balanced on a knee.

"These are tidings of great fate and change, and I thank you for having brought them, Legolas." Strider straightened on the bench and gave a strange half-smile. "It is not often that we receive word from as far east as the lands beneath the Lonely Mountain. It was only just a few weeks ago that the ravens flew overhead calling out the news that the dragon was dead, and the winds of war blew soon afterwards. "

"And have you felt the effects of The Battle of Five Armies this far northwest?"

Now Strider smiled in earnest. "More than one would think, my good elf. Perhaps news of their master's defeat has frightened the creatures of darkness even here in Fornost, for it has been some time since last a scouting party was spotted by our rangers."

It was Legolas's turn to smile. "Perhaps my arrival here is doomed to be less than opportune, if that is so. My bow shall grow stiff for lack of orcs to shoot!"

"Not so, fear not!" Strider shook his head with emphasis, holding up a hand. "Rest assured, you will see orcs in these lands before the spring. Not since my father's days have we been so fortunate as to have been left in peace for more than a turn of the seasons." Saying this, the young Dunedain's gaze became slightly more careworn, giving the impression of more years than his smooth, beardless face implied.

"It is much the same in our homeland as well." Said Legolas sympathetically, understanding how these people must feel to see their home constantly assailed by the foul presence of evil. "The giant spiders have been a constant encroachment upon our borders, although there is hope now that with the cleansing of Dol Goldur they may retreat."

Taking out a pipe and tapping it to empty the bowl, Strider nodded. "I hold the same hope for the retreat of evil from these lands, even if only for a short time." Pinching off a bit of leaf from a sachet at his belt, the man placed it into his pipe and set to work lighting it. Legolas sighed internally and braced himself for the acrid scent of pipe-smoke in close proximity.

The elf prince was saved though by the sudden appearance of a pair of young boys from around the fire-pit. They were probably about seven or eight, with their bright brown eyes shining like puppies.

"Strider, is it time to tell stories?"

"Yes Strider, can you tell us the story of the House of Haleth again?"

With a laugh, Strider put away his pipe and placed a hand on each of the boys' shoulders. "Are you sure, that one again? Or perhaps we could have Daernon tell the story tonight?" A chorus of vehement confirmation and refusal at the very same time was his answer, and so the Dunedain gave in. "Very well, if you insist. Go on now, and ask your mothers to pour out another round of drinks for all!"

Excusing himself from his conversation with Legolas, Strider strode into the circle around the fire-pit to the sound of approving murmurs. Deciding to retire for the evening to his cabin, Legolas was just about to rise when the dark-haired woman who had served him pheasant earlier sat down where Strider had just been. Unable to leave now without looking rude, Legolas re-settled himself and pretended he had been just stretching his legs.

As Strider began to speak in a loud, clear voice, the main hall fell into an appreciative silence. For the second time that day, Legolas wondered just how it was that one so young could command the respect of this entire settlement.

His musing must have shown on his face...either that or it was not just Strider who among the Dunedain was gifted at reading people. The woman looked at Legolas out of the corner of her eye and raised an arched brow.

"We have had chieftains younger than Strider, and ones older with less wisdom than he." She remarked, instantly causing Legolas to flush.

He couldn't resist one comment. "It is hard to imagine one not twenty years of age leading a people, when among our folk a youth does not come of age until their first century has passed."

At that, the woman began to laugh softly, her dark eyes twinkling in the firelight. It seemed Legolas was making a pattern out of being comical to these people, something he didn't really appreciate. Nobody in Mirkwood would have ever laughed at their prince unless he was making a deliberate effort to jest, something which happened only rarely.

"Have I said something amusing?" Legolas said crisply but quietly so as not to interrupt the unfolding story within the ring of firelight a few paces away.

Quieting, the woman smiled not unkindly. "I am sorry, master elf, do forgive me. You must not be accustomed to dealing with folk of the blood of old Numenor. There are not too many of us left; even among the Dunedain tribes of the north the bloodline grows thin. Those of that lineage do not age with the same haste as say, the folk of Rohan or Dale. Strider may look younger than twenty winters, but in truth he has seen twenty-seven."

Legolas was surprised, but also grateful to this Dunedain woman. She had given him a sizeable piece of the puzzle of Strider's identity. Silently though he cursed himself for not having taken much if any interest in the lineages of mortals previously in his seven hundred years. Perhaps if he had taken even a small measure of time to peruse the scrolls and books Thranduil kept stored in their treasured but rarely-used library, he would be better equipped to understand this riddle.

Ai, the past was the past, and Legolas could not change it now. Instead, he smiled at his companion on the bench, her having laughed at him forgiven and forgotten.

"No, forgive me my lady. I am not well versed in the history of mortals, and so perhaps not well equipped to understand nor comment on your ways. I shall take this time among you to learn what I may though, and I thank you for my first lesson." Bowing his chin, the prince of Mirkwood realized he had just learned something from a mortal. He supposed there was a first for everything.

Waving a callused hand dismissively, the woman shook her head. "Please, my name is Nerwen, and I am no lady. You're not in some fine elven court here, just a village of simple but proud people. Speak plainly, and we'll do the same for you." Standing, Nerwen shook out her skirts and picked up her tankard of mead. "Now then, if you'll excuse me I have things to see too. Do stay though, and enjoy the rest of Strider's story."

Legolas was about to respond with a formal acknowledgement as he would have done in his father's halls. Checking himself, he simply nodded his head in farewell before turning back toward the fire-pit. By the time Legolas and all the other Dunedain were rising to leave at the end of the story, the embers of the fire were the only light still lending a glow to the darkened hall. Outside the stars twinkled with a crisp winter beauty, and Legolas savored the rare sight as he walked back to his cabin. The elves of the Greenwood were not used to open skies, but now he understood why Tauriel would often walk above the forest canopy alone at night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Guess what I have for you in this chapter, my lovely readers? Legolas in various states of undress, yippee! :-D All the prince wants is a nice bath in the river, but apparently he can't even have that in peace...! **

The next few days passed pleasantly enough, marked by an almost uncharacteristic warming in Fornost. Tree boughs which had for weeks been bent low under the weight of snow suddenly found themselves free to rise as their white burdens melted away. Everywhere the ground was either coated with slush, mud or some mixture of the two. It seemed winter had fallen prey to a brief burst of spring in the northern lands.

With no sightings of orcs in the immediate vicinity the atmosphere around the village was quite calm, almost relaxed. The spate of good humor this patch of spring had brought with it worked in Legolas's favor; the Dunedain seemed to be accepting him by measured degrees with each passing day. The Sindarin elf could still feel eyes on his shoulders nearly everywhere he went, and had no doubt that it would be some time still before these wary people trusted him enough to allow him to come and go as he pleased about the village. Still, Legolas found himself almost enjoying the unexpected freedom this sojourn away from his people had granted him.

Patrols went out into the forest every day, and although he was invited every time to join the rangers no one turned to him expecting leadership. That role was reserved for Strider and his captains, who led their groups along familiar trails with an ease an elf could almost envy. Legolas for his part watched and listened, absorbing how the Dunedain interacted with one another and the world around them. When they chanced upon a stag grazing in the underbrush, Legolas was almost surprised to witness the appreciation and reverence with which Daernon treated the creature after he had shot it down with one clean arrow. Living in relative isolation in the Greenwood came with a certain sense of disinterest in mortals, and now Legolas observed with fascination how these rangers seemed to be almost as attuned with the natural world as his own people.

There were certain elements of elvish culture though which the prince of Mirkwood still kept to with devotion; hygiene for one. Unlike the elvenking's palace, there didn't seem to be any facilities reserved for bathing in the simple village. Rather than build anything 'frivolous' such as bath houses, the Dunedain simply bathed in the nearby river whenever an opportunity arose...which from the smell of some of the men was not regularly. Even on the road, Legolas had made time to bathe himself at least once every three days. He had no intention of ceasing to do so now, and so on the third morning since his arrival Legolas arose early and left his cabin with a towel over his arm.

The path to the river was sticky with mud from the melt, so Legolas instead walked over the snow to the side. It was an easier walk over the crusty snow (to an elf at least!) and he was standing on the riverbank just as the sunlight began to shine through the trees. With satisfaction, Legolas noted that he hadn't been followed; either he was to be granted privacy or he had just succeeded in sneaking away unnoticed.

Pleased with himself and the fresh scent of the forest in the morning, Legolas draped his towel over a branch and inspected the riverbank as far as his sharp eyes could see in either direction. The instinct of woodcraft demanded one check for any signs of enemies before settling down to anything. Satisfied that he was alone, the flaxen-haired elf set his knives down on a rock which would be quickly accessible from the water.

Stripping to the skin and leaving his clothes hanging with his towel, Legolas plunged into the icy water without hesitation. The shock did the rest of the work in chasing away what remained of his reverie from the night before. Reaching down with his toes and finding the mucky bottom surprisingly deep down, Legolas surfaced and swam back a little closer to the shore.

Once his long hair was freed from its braids and his scalp properly scrubbed, the elf gave himself a moment to enjoy the river. Diving down and then back up a few times, he made his way toward bar in the middle of the rapidly moving current with confident strokes. Now able to stand with the water at his waist, Legolas stood up and stretched as cold rivulets ran from his hair down his back.

A sudden noise from the trees in the direction of the village instantly had Legolas on alert, and he dropped back into deeper water. The sound of human voices reached him soon enough though; it seemed Legolas wasn't the only one with a mind for bathing this morning.

Sure enough, four of the younger men soon rounded the bend in the path and came into view. Recognizing Legolas even at a distance by his blonde head, one of them raised an arm in greeting and called out.

"Good morning! How is the water?"

Reaching the bank, Legolas stood and squeezed some of the river in a stream from his hair. "Refreshing enough to make short work of last night's ale." he called back. Not that any of the alcohols the Dunedain possessed could have so much as given the prince of Mirkwood a headache, but he'd seen these four in particular enjoying themselves a bit too much the night before.

The rangers seemed to find this amusing enough though, and were all splashing about in the river in a twinkling. They were a hardy bunch, these Dunedain, Legolas had to give them that. The water in this river must have come straight down out of the Emyn Uial, or Hills of Evendim to mortal tongues.

Taking a handful of fine sand from the riverbank and using it to scrub the skin on his arms and shoulders, Legolas couldn't help but mark the differences between his own physique and that of the young rangers. Even in their early adulthood, all four of them were sporting the beginnings of what looked to be promising beards. Dark hair covered their chests, some more than others, and stretched down to other areas as well... Their broad shoulders were well-muscled, and tanned skinned stood out starkly against the paleness of the winter forest.

Elves for the most part grew little in the way of body hair, not that anyone could tell just by looking at a fully-clad Eldar. Bathing in the river with these people though, Legolas knew that he was being curiously observed out of the corners of their eyes too. His milk-white skin and slender limbs must look quite unusual, even somewhat effeminate to these youths, he thought to himself in amusement. The irony lay in how strong Legolas really was though. Although his frame may not have looked it, one need only have attempted to pull back the elf's hunting bow with its enormous draw-weight to know that Legolas was more than capable of handling himself. To speak nothing of the equally impressive and equally subtle strength of elf-maids...!

Youth insists on testing everything for itself, unfortunately. When the tallest and broadest of the four stood up on the banks and called across the few dozen yards to where Legolas was bathing, he knew what the mortal would ask before he even said it.

"Come Master Elf, will you join us for a bit of wrestling?" The fellow must have been about two-and-twenty, and it showed in the bravado in his stance. "It does wonderfully for warming the blood after the cool of the river."

Legolas was already halfway dried off and into his leggings by the time the challenge was issued. Far from being intimidated, he was mentally gauging just how much he would have to hold back to avoid actually injuring anyone in a bout. Wrestling was not the sport of choice for elves, but Legolas supposed it would hurt nothing to stretch a few muscles in the ring.

"As you say." He answered, making his way fluidly over the rocky shore toward the rangers. "I must confess it's been some time since last I wrestled, but I accept the offer all the same." Legolas hoped the glint in his bright blue eyes wouldn't give away his baiting.

He needn't have worried. This tall young fellow was so eager at the thought of impressing his friends that he wouldn't have noticed if Legolas had brought a knife to the bout with him. Both bare-skinned except for their trousers, the elf and the human shook hands briefly before falling into the wrestling form. Hooting and calling encouragement to their friend, the other three youths arranged themselves on nearby rocks and fallen logs to enjoy the show.

Crouched low, Legolas resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Although this fellow might be full of bluster and ego, his form was excellent. Even though the lad was tall and broad, he covered himself carefully with his arms moving out before him, careful not to present an easy opening to the quick-footed elf. Head bobbing subtly almost like a bird, Legolas hinted at moves he didn't actually intend to make in order to draw out a weakness in his opponent's defenses.

Although he had fully expected the young ranger to make the first move, it came as a surprise to the prince when the young ranger held his posture and waited patiently for an opening to appear. The boasting and prodding of their audience was getting to be a bit much though.

"Come on Andris, he won't be able to get a grip on you! Look how skinny his arms are!"

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Legolas decided to give these young men a lesson in underestimating one's opponent. Spotting just the slightest glimmer of a defect in the cover those powerful arms were providing their owner, he tucked his head of still-damp golden hair and dove in for a tackle...

**Stay tuned for the next chapter! ;-)  
>DeathbySpoon09<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**So all you lovely readers have been wondering what's going to happen; is Legolas going to teach these impudent young rangers some manners, or will pride come before the fall.  
>...Both of them at once, I s'pose. ;-) Enjoy!<strong>

To describe the contrast between a human youth in the flourish of early manhood and an elvish prince not millennia old yet is actually harder than one would think. For the differences in physicality and in years, some things are common to the young males of all races. Whether their ears are rounded or pointed and their chins are bearded or smooth, there are certain characteristics that are universally the providence of early male adulthood.

A desire to prove oneself certainly falls under that category. When Legolas and his Dunedain opponent came together in their impromptu wrestling ring, it was with the unspoken agreement that there would be no holds barred. Even if his three friends had not been sitting nearby on the river bank cheering him on, Andris's pride would not have permitted anything less than a victory over this slim-shouldered elf.

Legolas likewise did not need a supporting audience to demand a triumph over this mortal, whose bravado had interrupted an otherwise perfectly enjoyable swim in the river. Moving with the quick grace of a cat, he ducked around and below Andris's swiping arm. Catching his opponent's elbow as he passed, Legolas jerked the offending limb up between the youth's shoulder blades in a simple yet devastating pin.

Andris was hardly helpless yet though, and with surprisingly flexibility twisted about to face Legolas. Now the elf's arm was the one stretched at an awkward angle, and the ranger took advantage of that to hook one of his legs around and behind Legolas's knee.

If he had been expecting that to topple Legolas, he had much to learn about elves. Standing balanced on one leg, Legolas used the failed manoeuvre to wedge his knee forward into Andris's kidney. They were still on their feet, and so it didn't do as much as it could have if gravity had been on the elf's side. Still, Andris let out a huff of air and turned the delicate shade of purple of one quite winded.

Now with the upper hand, Legolas was quick to press his advantage. As the onlookers shouted in protest, he followed the crook of his arm around Andris's back to once again place himself behind the ranger. This time he was able to kick the youth's legs forward and out from under him. The bought had taken less than a minute, and already the Dundedain was flat on his face on the riverbank.

Pleased to note that he hadn't even broken a sweat, Legolas was about to turn a prideful smile on the other three when he caught their expressions. Consternation mixed with irritation was plastered across all of the young men's faces; even if it was a fair fight they didn't like to see their friend so thoroughly trounced. Watching as Andris rolled himself heavily up onto one elbow and held his already bruising side, Legolas couldn't help but wonder how that would sting his own pride to be to looking up from the ground.

"Here..." Not entirely sure why he was doing so, the prince extended a hand to his fallen opponent. "You have some skill, there is no denying that. I am afraid though that you caught me on a good day."

With a dubious expression Andris eyed Legolas through the walnut-brown curls which had fallen across his forehead. Then, after a moment of awkward tension, he reached up and took the offered hand in a firm grip.

"I should have known. All you elves fight the same; quick as cats and just as hard to get a grip on!"

A sudden glint in those green eyes was all the warning that Legolas got before the young Dunedain jerked on his hand hard enough to pull him straight forward off his feet. Completely unprepared, Legolas stumbled forward to land sprawled on top of Andris. His only consolation was that his quick elvish reflexes brought his elbows out to bear straight down into the impudent youth's ribs.

Now there was laughter echoing along the riverbank as Andris's friends all leapt up from their seats on logs and stones. The mortal may have lost the match, but that didn't mean he didn't intend to exact some revenge for his embarrassment. Surprisingly quick, he managed to get an arm around Legolas's neck in a headlock and proceeded to rub clay from the riverbank into the elf's silky blonde hair.

"There, serves you right for always looking so clean and tidy!"

"Watch it Andris, he's going to get loose!"

_"__Thiach uanui a...naneth lín le hamma!"_

"What'd he say?"

"Throw him back in the river then!"

Thinking mortals both thoroughly uncouth and ridiculous by this time, Legolas made a mental note to devise something particularly unpleasant to pay these four back. Despite being unfairly outnumbered by now Thranduil's son made a point of never taking teasing lightly. For Eru's sake though, this entire ordeal was so _childish_! Therefore it was entirely involuntary when a grim smile quirked the corner of Legolas's mouth as he was busily digging his thumb into a pressure point on the clavicle of the nearest available mortal.

"A-_hem_!" The sound of someone clearing their throat thinly veiled amusement/inquiry was unmistakable. Instantly Legolas's 'captors' froze, all of them looking even younger with the chagrin painted all over their faces. Looking up from within the jumble of hairy human limbs, Legolas couldn't decide if he wanted to crawl into a hole of maybe just die when he saw Strider standing on the trail with arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Will you four kindly explain why you saw fit to disturb our guest in such a manner?" Strider spoke in a stern voice, but the explosive laughter twinkling behind his eyes could not be hidden.

Instantly Legolas found himself able to breathe again, with all of the rangers up and on their feet in deference to their captain.

Andris was the first to find his tongue, and by now Legolas confirmed his suspicions that he was the ringleader of this little group. "We were having a friendly bout of wrestling my lord, and Legolas accepted our invitation willingly."

_'My lord?'_ Thought Legolas to himself. '_Now that's a useful bit of information...'_ He didn't suppose it was common human custom to address even the leader of a town of Dunedain as a lord. Silently standing, Legolas did his best to compose himself. He still wasn't sure just why his cheeks were burning from the effort to keep from smiling.

Strider for his part was doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face as well. "I see. And were the terms of this match that it would be four against one?"

"...No my lord. Technically the match was already over."

"Ahh..." Strider said sagely. Letting silence hang poignant in the air, he stared down his men with a grey-eyed intensity that Legolas couldn't help but credit the younger rangers for not quailing under. Finally, he spoke again. "Seeing as you all have time to harass our guest, you certainly have time for more constructive projects. I do believe the stable masters could use some help cleaning out the stalls after the winter."

Legolas couldn't have imagined a sweeter justice himself. Anyone who had ever worked with stable animals before knew that the first thorough cleansing of spring was always the hardest and worst. Still, Andris and company took their fate bravely.

"Yes my lord. We'll report to Master Hillen right away."

The four of them gathered up the rest of their clothes quickly, heading back to the trail with appropriate silence. Legolas noticed a couple of them glancing at him sideways with barely concealed mirth. He didn't know what was so funny, but he hoped they still found it amusing while they were shoveling muck.

Once they were alone, Strider tossed his cloak back over his shoulder and shook his head. Something halfway between a sigh and a laugh escaped him.

"I do apologize, Legolas. They are young, and did not mean any offense."

Deciding to be the bigger man...elf in this, Legolas inclined his chin regally in acknowledgement. "No offense was taken, but I thank you for interrupting what was left of our 'bout'". Turning back toward where he had left his clothes and knives, a sudden clearing of Strider's throat gave Legolas pause.

"Yes, Strider?"

Finally it seemed his host could stand it no longer. A broad grin cracked his cheeks, and Strider pointed toward his own head. "You may wish to consider taking another brief dip before returning to the village." With that he turned and left Legolas to himself, although the elf's sharp eyes could pick out his shoulders shaking with silent laughter even at a distance.

Reaching up, Legolas's eyes narrowed and he bit back a curse. From the feel of things, his fine silvery-gold hair was absolutely caked straight through with river mud. Perhaps shoveling out the stables was too light a punishment for Andris and his friends...


	7. Chapter 7

**Wasn't last chapter fun? Things can't be all fun and games though, especially when you live in Middle-Earth. Now it's time for some proper ranger patrolling, as well as some flashbacks on Legolas's part... Enjoy!**

It seemed that the wrestling challenge Legolas had received was to be his 'initiation' amongst the Dunedain of Fornost; many of the rangers were noticeably more amiable toward the Sindarin elf the next day. When Legolas joined them in the early morning for their daily route around the valley in which the village was set, most greeted him with open smiles and nods of the head. Even Andris and company, whom had been made to shovel manure for an entire day as punishment seemed glad to see him.

There was a frost over the forest, and their breath made clouds in the air as Legolas and the Dundedain made the trek on well-worn paths up the valley ridge. At the top of the ridge they paused for a moment, and Beringil stood looking out over the grey landscape. With a hand tugging at his stubby brown beard, the older mortal furrowed his brow.

"Seems there's a bit of cloud settling down over the valley. I can't make out much..." Glancing over his shoulder at their party of eight, he picked out Legolas and jerked his head. "Come here elf, tell me if you see anything."

With a short nod, Legolas dropped his hood and stepped up to the edge of the ridge beside Beringil. Strider was out scouting with a few of his most trusted rangers this morning, and so Legolas only had a handful of familiar faces to manage with. Beringil may have come dangerously close to insulting the woodland prince the first time they met, but since then his even, sensible manner had not made the mortal hard to get along with.

Scanning the valley floor far below, Legolas's sharp blue eyes could make out the wisp of smoke curling over the pine-tops from the village hearths. A herd of deer were moving through the trees on the far side of the river, and a mountain cat could also be seen lounging on a crag across the valley. These things were all far away though; more than two leagues at least. To Beringil and the other rangers, it all seemed vague and indistinguishable beyond the settling fog.

Satisfied, Legolas turned back to his slightly shorter companion. "All looks quiet below. There is a mountain cat across the way, but she seems well and content to keep her distance from the village."

An incredulous sound brought both Legolas and Beringil's heads snapping around. A tall thin man look chagrined, and quickly pardoned himself.

"It's just that I fair impressed you can see that far, Master Elf." The fellow said, grimacing under the narrowed gaze Legolas was giving him. "Even Elladan and Elrohir would be hard-pressed to see the other side of the valley from here, and in this ill weather."

Relaxing, the corner of Legolas's mouth twitched in a half-smile. "Do not tell the sons of Lord Elrond that you said as much, for keen eyesight is one thing that all elves take great pride in." He did not doubt for a second though that the Peredhil lords' eyes were not as sharp as his own.

Beringil turned and walked away through the light snow dusting the trail back to where the rest of their patrol was taking a brief break. It was midmorning, but even still the sun was not visible through the thick cloud cover. Turning his gaze back to the mountain lion, Legolas found himself struck by the color of its tawny fur. Even at a distance the big cat was fluid, graceful. It reminded him very much of Tauriel.

It came as a surprise to Legolas to realize that he had not thought of Tauriel within the past twenty-four hours at least. She came almost unbidden to his mind, stretching within his memories with the same careless beauty of the lounging cat on the crag.

It had been an early autumn morning, when Legolas had compared Tauriel to a cat...

_He had been descending the twisting staircase to the armory, passing through one of the many 'indoor' gardens kept by his father inside the caverns. Although trees would not flourish in such places, the Silvan elves had been masters of growing many types of mosses and other botanicals inside caves long before Oropher arrived. Legolas was walking past one such garden when he spotted a characteristic flash of red. Red hair was not common among Silvan elves, and even less so among Sindarin. Detouring from his original course, Legolas had decided the fitting for his armor could wait. _

_Tauriel of course had heard his approach long before he was within polite speaking distance, and had greeted her prince with a smile. _

_"Le suilon, ernil-nin." She said, standing respectfully. Today was not a patrol day for the Captain, a rare occurrence. Dressed in a pale green tunic and gray leggings, her lithe form seemed somehow softer than it usually did when wrapped in armor. A small figure squirmed in Tauriel's arms, and Legolas tilted his head curiously. _

_"Where did you find that, Tauriel? It looks very young." _

_Lifting the tiny orange kitten from the crook of her arm, Tauriel smiled and let it chew on one of her long fingers. "Yes, he most certainly is. It seems we have new tenants living in the wine cellars! This one is part of a litter of six." _

_Legolas was quite used to the many elkhounds kept by the elvenking, and often enjoyed their company when out hunting in the forest. He spent somewhat less time around cats, despite the free reign they had been given within the halls of the Woodland Realm. They kept the mice away from the cellars and thus earned their keep, but Legolas had never really stopped to interact with any of them. The life of a prince was a busy one._

_Now that he was face to face with the furry little fellow in Tauriel's arms, Legolas could not help but be amused. The kitten let out a mewl, and proceeded to climb up her sleeve with sharp looking little claws. Tauriel did not seem to mind though, letting out a bell-like laugh that Legolas could still hear even now._

_"Ai, this one will be a trouble-maker!" she exclaimed. "Eager to explore anything he can set his paws on." _

_Raising an eyebrow, Legolas could not resist making the comparison. "Now why does that sound strangely familiar?" Reaching out, he scratched the kitten behind one of its orange little ears. "Whoever do we know that is much the same way?" _

_Tauriel missed nothing, especially not a jest. Holding out the kitten toward Legolas, she raised her eyebrows right back at him. "Careful now my lord, he and I both possess claws and are not above using them when offended."_

_"I quiver with fear." Legolas had smiled as he took the kitten, letting it make good on the threat and nip playfully at his fingers. _

The mountain lion gave a mighty yawn before stepping down off the rock where it had been sprawled and disappearing from view. With the wind unable to blow away the memories left behind, Legolas sighed quietly and resigned himself to a day haunted by the coppery-haired Silvan. He wondered if his father had allowed her to resume her duties as Captain of the Guard. Something told him he had; Thranduil's eyes on that day had been as glassy as the melting layer of ice around his heart.

Sudden movement away to the north caught Legolas's eye. Thinking it might be Strider and his scouting party, he looked carefully. Sure enough, he could just barely make out movement of cloaked figures in the distant underbrush. It was a hard spot to make, given the stealth of rangers in the woods and how far away they were from where Legolas stood. The valley ridge made an excellent vantage point, and afforded the elf a view for leagues around.

The movement that had drawn his attention was not Strider and his party though. Narrowing his eyes, Legolas was not sure what he was seeing...but it was not one of their own.

Calling Beringil over, he pointed to the area despite knowing the mortal would never be able to see what he saw. "Are there any others who live in the area, besides your folk?"

The man shook his head. "Nay. We're the only ones on this side of the foothills. And the only ones this far north of the Shire."

"...Strider and his scouts have company."

No sooner were the words out of Legolas's mouth than Beringil was barking orders at the other rangers. In a matter of seconds they had all dropped their pipes into their belts and were on their feet. Marvelling at how quickly they had all taken his word for it, Legolas was already mentally plotting the fastest path along the ridge down to where Strider and his men were. He did not know just who or what he had seen, but whoever they were they were approaching from the north, fast. Strider would have little to no warning, unless Legolas, Beringil, Andris and the others got to him first.


	8. Chapter 8

**I've been getting chastised by a fair few people for leaving off the last chapter at a cliffhanger, and all I have to say for myself is...TEE HEE! ;-D Who or what is closing in on Strider and his scouts, and will Legolas and co. get there first? Read to find out!**

Bounding like deer along the trail, Legolas and the rangers descended down off the ridge as quickly as they could. Keeping their footing on the stony path was difficult in some places, especially for the humans. A recent frost had slicked everything even as it made the forest sparkle along its branches like tiny diamonds. The fog was falling right down into the valley now, shrouding the path and making it hard to see further than a dozen or so feet ahead.

With nimble steps, Legolas led the way through the heavy underbrush of the forest. Beringil, one of Strider's captains, did not have sharp enough eyes to see where the elf had indicated up on the ridge the approach of unknown figures towards Strider and his scouts. The rangers moved with utter confidence in these lands though, and they kept right on Legolas's heels. Setting a course due northeast, Legolas was fairly certain that they were on track to meet up with Strider's group. Whether they would get there before their unexpected company was another matter.

A low-hanging branch appeared abruptly out of the mist, and Legolas dove into a roll beneath it, regaining his feet on the other side without hardly breaking stride. No one spoke; no one could spare the breath for it. All energy was put into crossing as much distance as possible in the shortest space of time.

Even with their familiarity of the terrain and their excellent physical form, the rangers soon fell several paces behind Legolas. He felt a prick of annoyance at the shortcomings of mortals, but had no other choice than to slow his stride just slightly. They did not know just who or what or how many were approaching Strider's position. It would be brash to rush headlong into a fight without back-up; that much Legolas had taken from his fight in Laketown with Azog's brutish spawn Bolg. And so he kept just close enough that the Dunedain could see and follow his swishing cloak in the gloom.

The sound of shouting instantly heightened Legolas's senses. Abandoning the idea of trying to shoot anything with such poor visibility, he bypassed his bow and instead reached for his two white knives. Bringing them out of their sheaths with a ringing _hiss_ that rebounded off the trees, he gripped the cold handles tightly in his palms. Judging by the closeness of the voices, Strider and his scouts must be only just a matter of yards up ahead.

Just faintly through the fog, Legolas caught sight of something. Judging by the form of the man, it was Strider. He was flat on his back on the ground, with a figure straddled on top of him. With a bound and a leap, Legolas sprang forward into the small clearing and tackled the figure looming over Strider. He and the attacker when rolling away into the bracken in a tangle of knives and cloaks.

It was a brief, vicious struggle. Thranduil's son was astounded by how lithe, how_ damnably_ hard to hold onto his adversary was. It took all his ability to get a knife around and under the enemy's chin, grabbing a handful of dark hair with his other hand. A small braid passed under his thumb as he scrambled for a firm grip to pinion Strider's attacker, and something sounded off in the back of his mind as being out of place. Orcs did not braid their hair, nor even did the wild men who sometimes prowled human lands. In fact...the hair which Legolas had tangled in his grasp was far too smooth and soft to even belong to a human.

_"Daro!"_

Hearing the Sindarin command to stop shouted in a voice that was not his own, Legolas froze. His captive lay very still against his heaving chest, the shimmering blade of a white knife pressed firmly against the skin of their throat. Looking down at the stranger brought a shocking revelation; it was an elf whom he had firmly pinned.

"Legolas, let him go." Strider, who was already back up on his feet held up his hands placatingly. "I am not harmed, there is no danger here." Letting out a quick breath, Strider's gaze fell to whoever it was that Legolas was holding. "I do not think that Lord Elrond would thank you for dispatching one of his sons, even if Lord Erestor might for once get some peace and quiet as a result!"

Shocked, Legolas immediately complied and released his hold on the Peredhil. With a shaky breath of relief, Elrond's son rose to his feet. Another elf, also raven-haired and clad in grey travel garb emerged from the fog nearby with Strider's group of scouts at his shoulder. Rushing forward, he grabbed his brother by the hand and drew him close.

"_Eru_, Elladan!" The second Peredhil gripped his brother's chin and lifted it for a closer look at his neck. "Glorfindel would be completely ashamed if he could see how our golden-headed friend got the jump on you!" Grimacing, Elrohir released Elladan and shook his head. "You're going to bleed on the collar of your tunic."

Elladan for his part seemed to already be recovered from his close encounter with elvish steel. "It wouldn't be the first time either of us had bled on clothing." He quipped, running long fingers through his hair to straighten it. The pair of them turned to face Legolas, confirming what the prince of the Woodland Realm had heard; the twin sons of Lord Elrond were indeed remarkably identical.

Standing up and sheathing his knives, Legolas had the grace to look abashed. "I am sorry...I had thought from a distance that you were..."

Elrohir, whom Legolas had decided to identify by the lack of shallow cut on his neck, arched a dark eyebrow. "You thought my brother was attacking Estel?" A curt nod from Legolas seemed to amuse him. "It was an honest enough mistake to make, _mellon_. Elladan suffers from the misfortune of orc-like form and face, most tragic indeed!" A cuff upside the head shortly followed that little remark, although Elrohir took it with an entirely straight face.

Throughout this whole exchange, Strider had been standing by with a half-amused look on his face, arms crossed. Beringil and the other rangers also looked on, and Legolas could hear the chuckles already rippling through the assembled Dunedain.

"Legolas of the Woodland Realm..." Strider spoke up in a formal tone. "May I introduce to you Lords Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

The twins bowed their heads in unison, placing their hands to their hearts and holding them out in the universal gesture among the Eldar of greeting (or farewell). Legolas likewise mirrored the gesture, recalling briefly how Strider had done the same upon their first meeting.

"I do apologize, my lords." Legolas said slowly, unused to being in a position of having to apologize to anyone except perhaps his father. "I should have checked my target before attacking. Forgive me?"

Elladan smiled at Legolas, his dark eyes completely open and un-judgemental. "There is nothing to forgive, Legolas." Glancing at one another, he and Elrohir half-smiled as though sharing the same thought. "I am only glad to know that Estel has with him friends who would come to his aid so thoroughly!"

_'Estel?'_ Legolas wondered to himself, making a mental note to ask the meaning of the name at a later time. It seemed these two knew Strider well, well enough to greet him by jumping on him in the middle of the forest! If anyone could potentially shed some light on Strider's true name, it would likely be the sons of Lord Elrond. Bowing his head, Legolas just smiled in acknowledgement.

Looking around at everyone, Strider seemed to come to a decision. "Well then, it seems to me that the most dangerous thing in the immediate vicinity of the village is startled elves!" A laugh rose from the rangers, causing Legolas to flush slightly and bite his tongue. "What do you say men, shall we call it a patrol and return to the warm hearth?" A chorus of assent went up immediately, and Strider waved an arm in dismissal.

As they all were making the trek back to the village through the forest, Legolas found Elladan and Elrohir falling into step just in front of him. The two were even more identical from the back, even with Elladan's fatally mussed hair. The prospect of having other elves about pleased Legolas, and he was in a cheerful mood even despite the 'misunderstanding' back in the clearing.

A new thought interrupted the prince's good mood though. With Elladan and Elrohir back in Fornost now, they would be wanting their cabin back...


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hello lovelies! Another day, another chapter. :-) Some of you have been commenting your surprise that Elladan and Elrohir didn't seem to recognize Legolas as the Prince of Mirkwood when they *ahem* met out in the forest. In short; they did. The twins just noticed Strider didn't introduce Legolas with a title and gathered there was an information gap. They're not about to let Legolas get away with it though...Read on! **_

No sooner did they reach the fence bounding the edge of the village then news of Elladan and Elrohir's arrival began to spread. Normally a handful of children and women greeted a patrol each time it returned, with most of the town's inhabitants caught up in their daily doings. Word of the twin elves' presence travelled fast through the small village though. Within minutes, nearly as many people as had been present when Legolas first arrived were gathered in the main square.

The reception was somewhat more jovial for Elrond's sons that Legolas's initial reception had been. Children threw themselves with abandon at the twin's waists, eager to give and receive hugs. Nerwen, the tall dark-haired woman with bowstring calluses on her fingers greeted both Peredhil with a hug before narrowing her eyes and demanding to know where Elladan had picked up the cut on his neck. Legolas was quietly grateful when the younger twin demurred, saying he had been careless out in the forest. A raised eyebrow proclaimed Nerwen unconvinced, but the matter was quickly forgotten in the swirl of greeting for the young lords of Rivendell.

A hand landed on Legolas's shoulder, and the ever-alert elf nearly elbowed Strider as he whirled about. Thankfully, the Dunedain was expecting the reaction and stood a prudent distance back.

"It seems a rearrangement of accommodations is required. That cabin is barely large enough to comfortably house two, let alone three. Go and get your things; you can share lodgings in my home for however long you choose." When Legolas opened his mouth to protest as such an intrusion, Strider held up a hand to forestall any such thing. "It sits ill with me housing even Elladan and Elrohir in such a small cabin, but they insist that as brothers they need no more space than that. I am unwed and live alone, and so I insist on extending you my hospitality, Legolas."

Their sharp ears brought Elladan and Elrohir into the conversation, finally extracting themselves from the last of the children's' embraces. "Has our arrival evicted you from your quarters, mellon?" Elrohir asked, tossing his head in the direction of the small cabin at the edge of the village.

"Not at all, I am the interloper in what has previously been your home here." Legolas waved a hand dismissively. "Strider was actually just kindly offering me lodging with him, so that you and your brother may take back your place."

"Then in that case, the least we can do is to help you gather your things. Come!" With a cheerful grin, Elladan turned and started away down the road. Elrohir, fast on his brother's heels, was equally deaf to Legolas's protest that he only had a few items, and assistance was not necessary. Strider was already gone, his quickness of movement startling for a mortal. With a sigh, Legolas could only follow after the twins back toward the cabin.

The door stood open when he arrived, and shutting it behind him Legolas was surprised to see both Elladan and Elrohir standing with their arms folded facing him. Their identical expressions were at the same time mildly amused and interrogative.

"So, Thranduilion...When are you intending to tell Estel just who you really are?" Elrohir spoke in a voice that brooked no denial.

Legolas didn't know what he had been hoping for. Of course Elrond's sons would hear his name and know immediately who his father was. There was only one Legolas currently...formerly in residence in the Woodland Realm.

After a moment of silence, Legolas raised his chin with eyes revealing nothing. "I am not the only one in this village whose identity is not entirely known, it seems. How is it that a mortal man carries an elvish name, '_Estel'_?"

The twins would have none of that. Narrowing his gaze, Elladan fired back. "Estel is given the name of Hope because that is what he is to Men. To say more is not our right, but his."

"I am surprised though, Prince of the Greenwood, that you have not puzzled out Estel's true identity already. Do the teachers of Thranduil's realm not linger on the bloodlines of Men at all in their lessons? Was no care given to the Chieftains of the Dunedain and their lineage in your education?" The corner of Elrohir's mouth quirked upward sarcastically.

Face burning, Legolas had to work hard to keep his expression placid. In truth, Thranduil did not care much for the comings and goings of mortals, and so had not given instruction for his son to be versed in any but the most noteworthy of Second Age bloodlines of the Edain. For the first time Legolas found himself face-to-face with the fact that his father's xenophobia had impaired his own knowledge of the world. It was not a pleasant revelation at all.

The shame must have shown on his face, for the expressions of Elladan and Elrohir softened. "Ai, I am sorry prince." Elladan spoke softly, understanding in his grey eyes. "We do not know life in the Halls of the Greenwood, and cannot judge what knowledge your life has and has not called for thus far."

Finding his voice, Legolas raised his chin defiantly. "Indeed, you do not know life in my father's kingdom. That is why I am here, under guise of anonymity. It was my choice not to reveal my rank to Strider...Estel upon my arrival. What purpose would it have served to be recognized as a prince so far away from the Woodland Realm?" He shook his head. "Deem it withholding if you will, but I wished to be known for myself only, for a time at least."

"Be that as it may, Estel still deserves to know." Elrohir said. "Remember, he has extended the hospitality of his people and now his own house to you."

"I know." Replied Legolas simply. "And I will tell him. But just as Strider's true name is his own to reveal, my status is also my own personal information." He gestured to the bag at the foot of a bed and the few items on the shelf, including his knife from Tauriel. "May I?"

Elrohir quickly moved out of the way. "Of course. Estel will likely be waiting for you." Elrond's son smiled at the Mirkwood elf, all trace of previous accusation gone.

Gathering up his belongings took less than a minute, and Legolas found himself at the threshold of the cabin again quickly. He was just opening the door and halfway across the threshold when a throat clearing stopped him.

"Yes?" he asked, hand still on the door handle.

"Just one thing Legolas, a favor if you will..." Elladan poured out some water from his flask onto a cloth and started dabbing at the dried blood on his neck. "Find a hobby besides sharpening those blades of yours; I feared that even swallowing would be enough to sever my jugular!"

The sound of the twins laughter behind him, Legolas quickly beat a retreat out into the winter sunlight. There were a fair number of people about, including a few whom he recognized and greeted him with a nod or a smile. Andris was sitting outside one of the houses, his brown curls falling into his eyes as he chatted with a young woman in the middle of sewing. Nerwen could be seen through a window bent over a hearth, and Beringil was up on his rooftop patching a leak. Remarkable, how fast the Dunedain could go from rangers of the north to simple folk living life.

"Do you need help carrying anything, Master Legolas?" A young voice piped up at the elf's elbow, coming surprisingly close to startling him. Gelwin, the young girl whom Legolas had 'escorted' to dinner that first evening stood looking up at him with bright eyes, a helpful smile stretching her rosy cheeks.

Legolas looked down at the small bundle in his arms and wondered at the sense in the girl's inquiry. He could easily carry what he had even under one arm.

"No, thank you." He answered as politely as possible, still slightly ruffled from his conversation with the Peredhil twins.

"Where will you stay, now that Elladan and Elrohir are back?" Gelwin asked, her braid swinging as she started walking to match Legolas. Clearly the girl was not dissuaded by his refusal of assistance.

"With Strider. He's been kind enough to offer me lodging in his home."

Gelwin's blue eyes lit up with a thought that seemed to give her considerable excitement. "If you like, you could also stay with us! I'm sure Papa wouldn't mind; we have plenty of room now that my brother has wed and built his own house."

Ai Valar, this young mortal was tenacious. Even despite the lack of encouragement in Legolas's noncommittal response, she followed him all the way to Strider's doorstep, talking the whole way. The chieftain's home was really an attachment on the back of a roundhouse which in peaceful times might serve to receive official guests. Although the roundhouse was a larger structure than most others in the town, the living quarters themselves seemed modestly sized.

Knocking on the oaken door, Legolas hoped that Strider might answer quickly and rescue him. Gelwin was even now waxing poetic about how exciting it was to have so many elves staying in the village, and how she really did hope he was enjoying his stay. Her cheerful chattering went on even as the bolt behind the door slid back and it swung open. Only when Strider appeared in the doorway did the girl actually quiet out of respect.

Strider took in Legolas and his unexpected tag-along before smiling and holding open the door. "Come in Legolas, there is space prepared for you in the room just off to the right." Turning to Gelwin, his gaze thinly concealed amusement. "Thank you for seeing our guest safely here Gelwin. But is that your father I hear calling for you?"

With a squeak, the girl was off running back through the village on skinny adolescent legs. Breathing a sigh of relief, Legolas paused in the central room with his bag tucked under an arm.

"I owe you thanks Strider, twice-over now. Once for your hospitality..."

"...And once for fending off over-enthusiastic company?" Strider chuckled, shutting the door. "Careful my friend, I do believe you have an admirer."

Unable to say much to that but shrug helplessly, Legolas set down his bag on a bench set against the wall. Looking now at the honest, open gaze of his host, the elf prince felt profoundly uncomfortable. Elladan and Elrohir were right; he had no right to be keeping his identity from this mortal who was offering him a place in his village and even his own home. As much as he might want to forget who he was for however short a time, it was time for the truth to come out. As chieftain of this village, Strider was entitled to know that he had elvish royalty under his roof. It mattered, especially if Legolas's presence were to attract unwanted attention to this place.

"Strider?" Legolas said uncertainly, not sure how to begin. "There is something that I must tell you..."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ask and ye shall receive! An opinion I've been seeing trending amongst you lovely readers is that you would like longer chapters. Hopefully this one is a bit better, although bear in mind that putting more in each chapter also implies that there might be more time in between updates. Still, I will do my best to continue delivering! So glad that so many of you are enjoying the story! **

For the love of Eru, Legolas could not begin to describe why he was so anxious. It was not as if he were facing his father, about to confess to having loosed spiders in the wine cellars. Being a prince was no crime, but for some reason he felt as though it were at this moment. Maybe it was more the fact that he had purposefully kept the fact concealed from Strider. Legolas had never had compunctions about letting mortals only know what information suited his purposes. This was different. Strider was not only his host, but rapidly approaching something close to what Legolas would call a friend.

Strider for his part did not as much as pause. Gesturing to a seat by the hearth, he waited for Legolas to sit before doing so himself. "Of course, Legolas. What is it?" Seeming to sense that a confession of some gravity was about to be forthcoming, the man spoke no more, allowing the elf to gather his thoughts.

Sitting stock still and ramrod straight, Legolas felt himself slipping into the formal tone he presented whenever faced with an uncomfortable situation. While Thranduil tended to use an icy, dangerous smile as a warning to offending parties that he disliked the present interaction, his son became perfectly expressionless. One of the royal guards, Tanwë, had once remarked that if the prince should ever be under interrogation, those doing the asking would have better luck getting information out of a rock.

This was not an interrogation though. With a deep breath that rose and felled his shoulders markedly, Legolas began.

"There is something about myself that I had not yet shared with you. You have been generous to me, since my arrival, and I can no longer in good conscience keep you ignorant of it." Strider's remained silent, bidding the elf continue without need of words. "I admit that I have been enjoying some degree of anonymity, here among your folk. It helps to calm the mind, and has in some measure freed me from that which I came here seeking to leave behind."

"And that is?" Strider spoke in a low tone, his grey-blue eyes watching Legolas.

"Myself."

For some reason, the answer got to the present moment ahead of its speaker. It was true though. Insomuch as Legolas had told himself that he needed time away from grief, Tauriel's fresh and Thranduil's hundreds of years old, it was actually his own identity that he had been hoping to forget. He had seen himself hardening like clay in a mold into Thranduil's image, and in light of that now understood why Tauriel had been unable to return his feelings. Legolas couldn't imagine his spirit was very appealing, constrained as it was by the lingering loss of his mother which Thranduil could never properly put to rest. Her death had hardened the king, embittered his heart, and in the process began to do the same to his son. Legolas liked to hope he was not near as imprisoned behind his own eyes as his father was. Nonetheless, that day on RavenHill his heart had told him that he must either flee now, or be forever unable to grow and heal. He only could pray to the Valar that Thranduil would find his own path to change...and renewal.

Continuing, Legolas felt his mask of self-defense crack; just the slightest of hairline fractures about the edges. It was a start though.

"I told you that my name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and in that I spoke the truth, but only part of it. Properly, I am called Legolas son of Thranduil, who presides as lord and king of that realm." Spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement and helplessness, Legolas met Strider's gaze. "I have forgiveness to ask; it was not my intention that I should be keeping information from you as chieftain of this village."

Strider sat in thought for a long moment, watching Legolas with an unreadable expression as he stroked his index and thumb along the stubble of his chin. Standing, he went to the hearth...and tossed another log onto the fire.

"Would it surprise you, Son of Thranduil, if I told you that I recognized you by your name the very first time you introduced yourself?" When Legolas's head jerked in astonishment, the Dunedain held up a hand to forestall comment. "Legolas, son of Thranduil, son of Oropher, who first departed from Doriath with a host of followers to take up residence among the Silvan folk of the Greenwood." A sudden wry smile twitched at the corner of Strider's mouth. "I have been educated at great length regarding the history of the Eldar, as well as their current politics and houses of note. My tutor saw to it that every last name was committed to memory." He chuckled, clearly evoking an old memory.

"...Then why did you not say as much when first we met?" Legolas was confounded. It seemed his revelation was not much of a revelation after all, and he wasn't sure whether this relieved or annoyed him.

Sitting back down once again, Strider leaned forward to balance his elbows on his knees. "Because you did not make a mention of your rank, and so I decided to allow you to set the tone of your presence here. Given the lack of royal escort or heraldry of any sort, I gathered that you were not here officially representing the Woodland Realm. We live simply in this village, Legolas, and titles perhaps mean less in the wild than they do in the wider world."

This had been an entirely anticlimactic conversation. Reminding himself to drag the Peredhil twins out into the woods and give them a piece of his mind, Legolas attempted a smile. "You are not angry then, that I was not entirely forthcoming from the first?"

Strider laughed then, a rolling, comfortable sound that filled the room. "Angry? Of course not, my good elf! We all have our secrets, kept for reasons that are sound for each set of personal circumstances."

"If I might ask you a question then?" Strider paused, but nodded. "Why do Elrond's sons call you 'Hope' in our tongue?"

Whatever question Strider had been expecting, Legolas seemed not to have asked it, and the man's shoulders relaxed. "Now that is a very good story, if you have a moment to sit and listen to it?" When Legolas nodded encouragingly, Strider cleared his throat. "It was actually a name given to me by my mother, when I was a very small boy. Elladan and Elrohir have been traveling north to visit our people since before I was born. When my father died, they brought my mother and I to Rivendell to live under the roof of Lord Elrond. I was fostered there in the Hidden Valley, hence some of my more peculiar habits." At this statement Strider winked at Legolas. No doubt he had seen Legolas taking notice of his elvish style of greeting.

"Ahh..." Legolas smiled slightly. "That does explain much. But, if I may ask, why is it that Elladan and Elrohir felt you and your mother should be brought under Lord Elrond's protection?" Gesturing out the window, he looked at Strider questioningly. "I grant that these are harsh lands, full of orcs at the best of times, but mothers seem to be bringing their children up quite effectively in this village."

Strider opened his mouth to speak when a sudden shriek from outside brought both man and elf bolting up out of their chairs. Whatever else might make one different from another, Legolas and Strider were both warriors by nature. Instinctively they went for their weapons first before rushing out of the door into the winter afternoon.

Beringil, who had been patching his roof earlier when Legolas passed by, hung from the apex of his roof by his fingertips. The morning frost had left the thatch slippery, and from the looks of things the man had slipped while working on the highest point. It was a good fifteen foot drop to the hard ground below; not far enough to be mortally dangerous but certainly enough to break a leg or an ankle.

The shriek had come from a woman who stood below where Beringil dangled, most likely his wife. A number of people had already come rushing out of their homes, and already many were dashing about looking for a suitably large blanket to try to catch the man in.

Even from a distance though, Legolas could see that Beringil wasn't going to be able to hang on for more than another few moments. A vein at the side of his face bulged from the effort of trying to grip the chilly wood beneath the thatch. Another few inches of fingertip, and one of Strider's best rangers would fall.

An idea sprang to mind, and immediately Legolas drew his bow and loaded an arrow to the string. Gasps went up as the elf appeared to take aim directly at Beringil.

"What are you doing?!" Shouted Daernon, waving his thickly muscled arms like a distressed pelican. The man fancied himself a storyteller, 'so let him talk rather than act' Legolas thought before shooting.

The arrow flew straight and true, lodging itself in the crossbeam of the roof directly above Beringil. Not a moment too soon; the ranger immediately caught the purpose of it and grabbed a hold with his right hand. The thin shaft quivered, but Legolas knew the quality of Greenwood arrows well enough to trust it would not break for at least a few minutes more. Another arrow hissed through the air to strike the wood directly beside the next, providing Beringil with two semi-solid handholds until the folk on the ground could get their wits together.

Nerwen emerged from her home with an enormous quilt rolled up over one shoulder. "Come on, help me get this unrolled!" Directing men and women alike around her with the efficiency of a commanding officer, Nerwen positioned them underneath where Beringil dangled.

"Hold it up high, as high as you can get it!" she ordered, making room for Beringil's wife to grab onto one side of the quilt. "Give him room to fall a bit more once he hits it."

"You sure this will hold?" asked Andris, nervously eyeing the seams between the quilt patches.

Nerwen gave him a withering look. "My mother's sewing is strong enough to make ships' sails out of, and don't you forget it!" Looking up to Beringil, she shook escaped strands of dark hair out of her eyes and called out. "Aright, are you ready up there?"

"Not as ready as you'd better be!" Came the anxious shout down, its gruffness barely hiding nervousness.

Strider, who had already made his way over to take a corner of the quilt, spoke in a loud but calm voice. "We're ready for you Beringil. Let go and you'll have both feet firm on the ground in a heartbeat."

Elladan and Elrohir appeared on the opposite side of the houses, their identical faces turned upward to watch the unfolding scene intently. Seeing Beringil's reticence to let go of the arrow-handholds, Elrohir put his hands to his mouth and let out a hoot.

"Come on now old man! I saw Raelin's seven year old son scampering along a roof easily that high just last summer. Get your wits together and let go!"

No words of encouragement could have prompted Beringil to release his grip on the arrows and drop faster than Elrohir's goading did. The fall was a very short one, and he hit the quilt with a muffled 'thwump'. Just as Nerwen had said, they could not keep the quilt and its load from dropping another foot or so after impact. It was far enough up to begin with though that by the time Beringil touched the ground, it was because he was being lowered by dozens of relieved hands.

He was up and running before anyone could even offer him a hand up.

"_Old man?_! That's rich, coming from a relic like yourself Elrohir Peredhil!"

The dark-haired elf in question was already off like a shot, his feet flying as he bolted toward a fence and vaulted over it. Beringil chased him to the fence before contenting himself with picking up a handful of cold, damp earth and slinging it after Elrohir. Elladan for his part was too busy laughing to even consider helping his twin.

After the tension of the previous moments, a rush of laughter traveled through those assembled like a cleansing tide. Many slapped Beringil on the back when he returned to their midst, and he thanked each one of them heartily. Strider clasped the man's wrist as well, after extracting a promise from Beringil that he would watch his footing on wet thatching from now on.

When Beringil reached Legolas, he appraised the elf for a moment before sticking out his hand. "I owe you thanks as well, Legolas. Those arrows of yours made a bloody better thing to hold onto than that roof!"

It was the first time the older ranger had properly called Legolas by name. With a nod of acknowledgment, Legolas took the offered handshake. "Think nothing of it, Beringil." He said, purposely using the man's name in reciprocation.

Turning and pointing, Beringil spoke loudly to all present. "What do you think of my new crossbeam decoration?" Many laughed, marking the two arrows still sticking out high above the ground from the side of Beringil's house.

It was Elladan who stated the obvious. "I think our friend will be wanting his arrows back!'


	11. Chapter 11

**Good evening, lovely readers! Assuming that like me you have no life, what better way to spend a Saturday night than reading a new chapter of 'Starting Anew'? ;-) One thing I noticed throughout the LOTR/Hobbit is that apart from Bilbo getting a wee cold in Laketown, nobody ever seems to get sick in Middle Earth. Sorry Strider, but you're too majestic normally not to merit a little bit of payback in the form of sniffles lol...**

The next few weeks passed without incident in Fornost, with patrols going out every morning to scout the foothills around the village for any sign of orcs or other foul creatures. Day after day the rangers returned having nothing to report, and life for the Dunedain took on an almost relaxed feel.

Winter was not yet finished with the north of Middle-Earth though. One evening the skies went as grey as slate, and the winds blew down the mountains with an icy bite. All night long the windows and doors of every home shook as the storm wreaked its vengeance outside. Even Legolas had found a full reverie hard to attain, and he and Strider had spent much of the night sitting up before the hearth listening to the wind.

Come the morning, there had been snow drifts against every north-facing wall of the village. Some were so deep that children were able to tunnel into them, making a network of crawl spaces and forts between the buildings. The snow had been so deep that the rangers had been unable to go out on their usual rounds along the ridge. Strider had reassured his folk though when he pointed out that if they were unable to be abroad in the land, it was highly unlikely that any foul creatures would either. It went unspoken, but everyone also heard the implied reassurance that after the victory of the Battle of Five Armies the previous autumn, they could perhaps hope for peaceful times for a little bit longer.

A late winter cold spell knows no defeat though, and that night the winds had howled yet again. By the time the week was out, the entire Dunedain village was nearly so buried in snow that it made moving between buildings difficult. Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir found themselves put to work ferrying food and other goods back and forth between storehouses, the main hall and peoples' homes. Being elves, they could walk around atop the snow as they pleased. They also joined in helping to dig out what they could, when the weather paused in its wrath long enough to permit such endeavors.

Still, it wasn't long before time spent sequestered indoors began to wreak havoc on the health of the village. At first it was just the children sniffling here or there, or a running nose that Legolas noted when passing the latest armload of smoked ham through a window above the snow. When the winter sickness finally presented in full force, it seemed that no household got away without at least one person falling ill. That went for the chieftain's home as well; although Legolas by virtue of being an elf had no fear of sickness, Strider woke one morning sneezing loud enough to shake the walls.

It took less than a day for things to progress so quickly that Strider found himself flat on his back. The picture of winter misery, the poor man's sinuses were all running like a faucet left open and his voice was closer to that of a dwarf than a man for hoarseness. From the sounds of things, Strider was far from even being in the worst condition with the whole village taken into consideration.

Himself in as good a condition as he'd been when he arrived, Legolas knocked on the door to Strider's room and received a gravelly "Enter" from within. Taking care not to disturb the level of soup contained in the wooden bowl he carried, Legolas let himself in and tried not to grimace at the sight.

"Nod a bery preddy thing to see, ad even less to have I'b afraid." Strider managed a grin that looked more like an aborted sneeze. His eyes were red rimmed, and from the looks of things his tangled dark hair hadn't been brushed in ages. "You hab somethig for me dere?"

Crossing the room and handing Strider the bowl, Legolas gave a sympathetic half-smile. "I will admit that you have looked better, Strider. Far, far better."

"Yes, bud I've also looged worse." The Dunedain said wryly, if a bit stuffily. Picking up the spoon, he set to work tentatively on the stew. No one in the village had progressed from cold to stomach flu, but everyone seemed nervous of the possibility.

Pulling up a seat, Legolas sat down beside the bed. Having Strider ill had meant it had fallen mostly to him to keep the household running, and it actually hadn't been an unpleasant morning spent watching over the cook-pot and drying the laundry above the hearth. It was yet another aspect of living simply as opposed to royally that the prince was adjusting to. Although folk from the village would occasionally share meals with their chief, Legolas had been surprised to learn that Strider did most of his own domestic work. Or at least, he had until he had woken with a headache so vicious it demanded he stay abed. Not for the last time Legolas thanked the Valar that elves were immune to mortal sicknesses.

"Elladan and Elrohir went out this morning to go have a look around the valley." He offered, knowing that despite Strider's earlier words to his people it sat ill with him not to be able to send out patrols. "They said before they left that they planned to go up to the ridge, the better to make sure you were right about orcs not being able to be abroad in the snow."

"Good, aldough I'd be amazed if anythig was able to walk aboud out dere besides ad elf." With a heavy, congested sigh, Strider gave up trying to breathe through his nose and eat at the same time. "Thag you Legolas, it's been good habing someone else here to helb."

Legolas couldn't help but smile at the noble man's cold-muddled words. "I'm only too happy to do so, mellon-nin. I would rather be sharing quarters with you than cooped up with both Peredhil twins in that little cabin!"

At that Strider laughed, the steam from the soup seeming to brighten him up. "Dere are few brave enough to share quarders with dhose two a...at...aachoo!"

The sneeze nearly upset the soup bowl in Strider's lap, and Legolas very seriously considered going to see if Kailin had any herb she could part with. The village herbalist had been in high demand ever since the sickness began to make the rounds, and more than once Legolas had been asked to ferry a prescribed packet of ginger and hyssop from the older woman's home to the home of a sufferer. Even after the men had managed to get something of a path cleared to her front door through the snowdrifts, Kailin still insisted on the elves doing her couriering on account of the cold making her knees ache.

A thumping came at the door. Leaving Strider to do battle with his sinuses over soup, Legolas rose and went to go see who it was. Showing the resilience to the elements typical of his people, the elf answered the door in only his light tunic and leggings even as the icy air poured in.

Standing stamping and chattering on the doorstep was Andris, his nose as red as a tulip. Seeing Legolas, the young ranger grinned even as his breath poured from him in small clouds.

"Legolas! May I come in?"

Glancing over his shoulder and deciding that Strider was in rather too rough a condition to be caring about who dripped on his entrance rug, Legolas nodded and held the door open. "Yes of course. Come inside and warm yourself by the fire."

Andris was only too happy to oblige, and hurried past Legolas into the warm glow of the small main chamber. It had perhaps been a bit too long since last Legolas had put a log on the fire, and he had to remind himself that mortals were a tad more sensitive to the cold than he was. As Andris dropped his hood and unwound the long scarf from around his lower face the elf grabbed another few pieces of wood and dropped them into the embers.

"What can I do for you Andris? I'm afraid Strider is rather...indisposed at the moment." It was an accurate statement, considering that the sound of another sneeze was reverberating off the walls from the bedchamber.

Furs and cloak already sodden with melting snow, Andris sagged visibly when he heard as much. "He is?"

"Yes. Why, what do you need him for?"

For the first time that Legolas had ever seen, the tall, charismatic young ranger looked worried. "It's my grandmother. She's been ill for the past few days, like so many of the rest of the village. Over the past day or so she's taken a turn though...I was wondering if perhaps Strider could do anything for her? Kailin sent over Elrohir with a bundle of the usual herbs last night, but it just hasn't seemed to help much."

Legolas had heard bits and pieces of Strider's reputation as a healer as well as a ranger, and so small wonder that people would turn to him for dire cases. Still, there was no way the man was going anywhere anytime soon in his condition. More than likely he would faint as soon as he stood up, Legolas thought.

A sudden idea seemed to occur to Andris. "Perhaps you might be able to see if there's anything you can do, Legolas?" Before Legolas could answer, he rattled on. "Strider learned the healing arts from the elves, he says, and so maybe you might know something that would help?"

Legolas was taken aback. Casting about for a way to explain that he knew little to nothing about healing, he went with a default instead. "What about Elladan or Elrohir? They are the sons of one of Middle-Earth's most famous healers, after all."

The look of disappointment on Andris's face was quite wrenching. "I would, but they left this morning to go scouting out the area." Worry was etched deeply into his expression. "My Gran is doing so poorly, I just don't know if she'll be able to wait for them to return."

_'Of course not Elladan and Elrohir, Greenleaf, you said yourself they had left to scout the valley'_ Legolas admonished himself silently. Looking now at Andris, so clearly afraid for his ailing grandmother, the prince didn't know what to do. He supposed he might know a few things about healing, but his knowledge of human illness was scant compared to triage and battlefield injuries. Still, here was someone standing before him in need of help...

"Let me get my cloak." Legolas sighed. "I will see what I can do."


	12. Chapter 12

**Prepare your feels, 'cause I am coming for them in this chapter! We've had some laughs, we've had some cliffhangers. Now how about we have some tears? Legolas is in for one of the biggest lessons of his immortal life about the difference between learning how to die...and learning how to live. **

Following Andris through the path that had been dug out through the snowdrifts, all that Legolas could see was white all around and the back of the young Dunedain in front. He considered stopping at the herbalist Kailin's home on the way, but discarded the idea. According to Andris his grandmother was already being given the usual herbs for winter sickness to little avail. Anything beyond that Kailin would need to administer herself, and it was unlikely they would be able to get the aging woman out and about in this kind of cold.

Resigned to do whatever he could for Andris's ailing grandmother, the prince of the Greenwood stepped inside the small thatch home and out of the Fornost winter. The air was close and somewhat dim inside, probably because snow had drifted up against the shuttered windows and rendered them impossible to open. Small wonder sickness was traveling quickly within the village. Not for the first time that day Legolas thanked the Valar for elvish immunity to mortal illnesses.

The house was small, but cozy enough. Clearly women lived here. Sure enough, a short figure wrapped in a shawl straightened up from beside where she had been tending the ailing elder on the bed. The resemblance between the woman and Andris was strong enough to suggest this was the young ranger's mother.

"Strider is ill as well Mother, and cannot come." Andris said, putting down his fur-lined hood and stamping his boots. "Legolas said he would help Grandmother though."

The woman studied Legolas, looking him up and down. Even in the low light from the hearth and the candles set about the room, Legolas could see that she had once been a beauty. Laugh lines surrounded her eyes, eyes that were now rather tired and sad looking. Her brown hair shot with streaks of grey was escaping from the bun where it had been tied back, and she brushed them back carelessly.

"Very well. Thank you Master Legolas for coming." She turned and shook her head slowly over the figure who lay upon the bed. "I have tried herbs, compresses, salves, everything. Grandmother has only worsened since she first took ill though I'm afraid."

A fragile sounding cough rose from within the bundles of furs and blankets_. "Hush Delia. You will make yourself ill from worry..." _The voice was papery thin and rustled like dried leaves, but still undeniably steady.

Andris took Legolas by the wrist and brought him closer to the sick woman. "Grandmother, this is Legolas. You remember, he came across the mountains some weeks ago?" The young man spoke gently, as though to a spooked fawn.

_"Of course I remember child." _A coughing spell delayed the old woman's next words._ "My breath may be spent but my eyes are not. I saw that head of gold through the trees before ever you entered our village, good elf." _

Delia moved back to make way for the prince, and Legolas cautiously sat down in a chair next to the bed. This close up, he could see Grandmother's face in detail. He had never before met a human with so many wrinkles, or with hair so pure white. This woman was very old by mortal reckoning, very old indeed.

Her surprisingly clear blue eyes focusing on Andris, Grandmother make a sound in the back of her throat. _"Could you brew me some tea, my boy? This cough does make the throat ever so dry."_

Nodding, Andris stepped away from where he had been hovering over Legolas's shoulder, joining his mother at the hearth. Feeling that he ought to be doing something useful, Legolas reached out a slender white hand for the bony one that lay upon the furs.

"May I?" he asked. Even though he was easily seven times this woman's age, something about the depth of her eyes made him feel that deference as though to an elder was appropriate.

_"Be my guest."_ Grandmother said, her voice fading and coming back within the space of three words. As Legolas picked up her wrist and felt gently for the beating of her heart there, she watched him with a serene expression. As he went to set the fragile arm back down, Grandmother beckoned him closer with a flicking of her gnarled fingers.

_"It was good of you to come, but I am afraid Delia and Andris are avoiding what everyone here already knows."_ She whispered. _ "I am too old to weather another winter...It is my time." _

Legolas frowned imperceptibly. "How do you know that?"

_"Because I know. After eighty years of living, you get to know yourself well enough to recognize these things." _

Glancing over his shoulder at where Andris and his mother were murmuring with their heads close together over the kettle, Legolas felt his lips press together. Not in annoyance, but in discomfort. It sounded like Fading, what Grandmother described. Although elves could not die by the passage of time or illness, they could certainly die of a broken heart or grief. He had heard tell of how Elladan and Elrohir's own mother had very nearly faded after the trauma she suffered at the hands of orcs. It had been only shortly after that that Lady Celebrian had taken ship from the Havens rather than pass into the Halls of Mandos.

Grandmother's rasping voice interrupted the elf's thoughts. _"You are troubled?"_

Looking once again at that wrinkled face, both unbeautiful and yet strangely beautiful in its inner wisdom, Legolas shook his head. "And you are not?"

With a toothless smile, Grandmother narrowed her bright blue eyes kindly at Legolas. _"Why should I be? It's been some years since I went on an adventure, and I think my spirit is as ready as it will ever be to set out."_ The old woman shifted her shoulders, clearly uncomfortable for having been abed so long. _"Besides, my husband has been waiting for me quite long enough by now I should think!"_

Thinking of Andris's cheerful smile and Delia's laugh lines, it was hard to imagine grief on their two faces. "What about your family? Will they not mourn your passing?"

Now Grandmother did frown, but it was more a frown of kind exasperation rather than distaste. _"I taught Delia all she need know to care for this household. These old bones are tired, and if they begrudge me my rest then I have words for my family!" _Again, coughing nearly shook the bed frame, and Legolas rushed to put an arm under Grandmother's narrow shoulders to help her upright until the fit subsided.

Death was not a thing unheard of to the elves; Legolas himself had experienced it firsthand with the death of his mother so many years ago. But always it was a time of great tragedy and sorrow whenever an elf passed from Arda except by the Havens. Either they died on the battlefield, watering the ground with their crimson red blood, or they died slowly and perhaps more painfully as their very soul wilted within them from grief or despair. The latter had very nearly befallen Thranduil, following the death of the queen.

Legolas remembered the long days and nights following that terrible loss. Thranduil had been like one caught in a waking dream. He walked the palace halls without eating or drinking, and Legolas remembered the terrible helplessness he had felt to help his father. The prince had been but an adolescent at the time, and the thought of Thranduil fading so soon after the loss of the queen had terrified him.

One night it had been too much to bear; Legolas had sought out his father where he sat slack-faced and silent beside the pool of calm water within the palace. Taking Thranduil by the hands, he had cried and pleaded with his father to return. He didn't care in what form, Legolas had begged, just so long as he did not fade and leave his child to grieve both parents.

As if stirred from a trance, Thranduil's gaze had finally come into focus. Looking Legolas in the eye, the elvenking had risen and brushed the tangled silver-blond hair from his face. When Thranduil at last spoke, it had been in a different tone than what Legolas had heard from his father before. No longer quick-humored and tender, Thranduil had seemingly overnight adopted a veneer of polished steel. It was as though the only way to preserve his broken heart had been to freeze it in a solid block of ice. Legolas never complained at his father's new demeanor of distance though. His father was all he'd asked for, and he would take him in whatever form Thranduil assumed.

The memories of death and pain came unbidden to the surface in a rush, sitting there in the dark cottage beside Grandmother's bed. The corners of his eyes stung, and he had to blink hard to keep his composure. Legolas had never wept since that day when he had begged Thranduil to stay with him. _By the Valar _if he was going to now in front of strangers.

A hand, twisted with age but somehow softer than silk found its way to rest on Legolas's. Grandmother was looking at him with an expression that seemed to understand more than could ever have been said.

_"What saddens you, child?" _

Placing his other hand on top of Grandmother's on the bed, Legolas had to take a deep breath to compose himself before he trusted his voice enough to speak. "I do not understand...and wish I did, how you can be so peaceful and full of grace on the threshold of death itself. I have always thought death to be a terrible thing, and worse so for mortals who know not what lies beyond!"

Grandmother squeezed his hand, and smiled at Legolas the way he had not been smiled at since last he saw his mother.

_"Death is not so terrible for those who are undertaking the journey. It is those who remain behind that must remember how to live." _

Bowing his head, Legolas wished he could tell this remarkable woman just how right she was. He was an elf, and he was forever bound to this world whether that be here on the shores of Middle-Earth or beyond in the Blessed Realm. For one single moment in time, the prince of the Greenwood envied the freedom of mortals to pass beyond the world. Now he understood why death was called The Gift of Man.

A finger reached up to stroke his cheek, and Legolas realized that a single tear had in fact escaped him. Rather than feel ashamed, as he had always told himself that he might, it was only calm that settled over him like a warm cloak. Grandmother slowly lowered her hand and cupped his chin like one would a small child.

_"Remember how to live. That is the hardest thing to do, but the very best thing as well." _


	13. Chapter 13

**Short chapter, hopefully a good chapter! I love Tauriel, and it seems I'm not the only one; by popular request this chapter is written entirely from her perspective post-Battle of Five Armies. Enjoy!**

The branches of the forest rustled, raspy and insistent in the chilly breeze. Always the trees spoke, even on the calmest of days. Nestled between the Misty Mountains to the West and Erebor to the East, the Greenwood was never without at least some slight breath of wind. These gentle giants needed no leaves to whisper; their eves grew so long and slender toward the sky that sunlight still had to struggle to reach the forest floor far below.

With a final glance over her shoulder back toward the Lonely Mountain, Tauriel reluctantly began the decent to the forest road. Even in the winter the former Captain of the Woodland Guard loved to climb up into the arms of the trees and breathe the free air above. Not that her new life did not come with a fair sight more open skies regardless.

Ever since the Battle of Five Armies nearly a season ago, life had changed a great deal for Tauriel. She had gone from banished to un-banished to re-banished within the space of twenty-four hours that fateful day. Although, Tauriel supposed that one could not rightfully call the life she led now one of exile.

Even if she and King Thranduil had come to some measure of understanding over the still-warm body of the young dwarf prince, Tauriel like Legolas could not go back to the way things had been. Nor did Thranduil want her to it seemed. Still Tauriel had never seen her king as fragile as he had appeared in that moment when he acknowledged that what had existed between herself and Kili was real.

Following Legolas's departure, Tauriel knew not where to, Thranduil had left her to grieve in privacy on Ravenhill. By the time she had finally found the strength to come down to the plains once again, the elves of the Woodland Realm (what was left of them) were already assembled and ready to leave. It seemed Thranduil had no mind to tarry in the shadow of Erebor now that the orcs were dealt with.

When Tauriel had moved to join the ranks of her kin, Thranduil had held up a hand to stop her. Shocked, she had felt her broken heart clench with anxiety. Was she still banished then, despite all that happened between the king's first pronouncement and now? Not that the Silvan captain was not resourceful; she was sure she could eke out a life for herself somewhere between the four corners of the map. But with the taste of her first and last kiss bestowed upon Kili lingering on her lips, Tauriel wondered if she had the heart to endure such an existence.

Thranduil's face was once again schooled into its customary blank marble canvas. When he spoke though, he words were strangely gentle.

"No, Tauriel, you will stay here. This day has seen the dominion of Smaug come to an end, and now two kingdoms shall once again rise in its place. Speak to Bard, or to Dain, whichever is willing to host you."

So that was it then, Tauriel thought bitterly to herself. She really was to be exiled from the only homeland she had ever known. Her green eyes staring into Thranduil's expressionless blue, she nodded curtly and turned to go.

"I did not give you leave to go." Thranduil said sharply. When Tauriel hesitated he continued. "Help in the rebuilding of the cities in whichever way seems most fitting. Watch all that goes on, and observe the two kings in all their doings. I will expect your report come the Snow Moon of February, along with whatever tidings Dain or Bard may wish to send." It was the briefest of movements, but Tauriel could have sworn she saw Thranduil's mouth quirk in the ghost of a smile. "I trust you are not averse to dealing with dwarves, _Ambassador._"

It was a jab, but not a malicious one. Tauriel's heart clenched briefly as she thought of the dark haired son of Durin whose body was even now being borne down the side of Ravenhill by his kin. Turning back to Thranduil, she bowed.

"As you command, _Aran-nin._"

Watching the Woodland army leave have perhaps been easier, knowing that she was not truly sundered from her people. Still it had been harder than Tauriel thought. Standing on the plains, bruised, bereft and alone, the Silvan elf had suddenly felt very small. When a throat cleared at her side she had very nearly jumped in surprise.

It was Thorin's burglar, the Hobbit whom they called Bilbo Baggins. The short little fellow looked just as much a mess as Tauriel felt, with his dirty blue coat and eyes red from tears already shed. His kindly face gave her a fleeting smile though.

"I'm sure Balin could coax Dain into setting you up with lodgings in Erebor…" Bilbo began, stopping short at Tauriel's russet eyebrows climbed by degrees. "Either that or Bard for certain would be glad to have your help." The Hobbit gestured helplessly at the pile of rubble behind them that passed for the ruins of Dale. "There's a lot of work to be done here."

The both of them half-turned and appraised the desolated city. Noticing a stray brick by one of his furred feet, Bilbo picked it up and tossed it aimlessly toward the crumbled wall some yards away. It was such a small, futile gesture that Tauriel could not help but laugh.

"Yes…yes there certainly is." She had said, following after the Hobbit as he led the way.

That had been back in the early days of winter. Snow still lay on the lands surrounding the forest, but now the moon began to grow fat and round in the sky each night. Even though February was unlikely to bring with it warmth anytime soon, Tauriel still marked the lengthening of days. Now for the first time in months she was returning to her homeland, to the halls of the elvenking. It would likely only be a temporary stay, but after weeks spent living amongst humans and dwarves Tauriel was ready to walk among her own people again.

As she followed the familiar twists and turns of the forest road it seemed her heartbeat began to rise in her ears. For a brief moment Tauriel wondered what she would say if she were to see Legolas. Just as quickly she shook away the thought; the prince had gone, and likely would not be coming back in the near future. Still it seemed everywhere she looked the Greenwood reminded her of moments spent on patrol along these very paths with Legolas.

Tauriel knew well enough the nature of the feelings Legolas had harbored for her. After all, had he not openly defied his father for her sake? Feeling a small, familiar weight in the breast pocket of her tunic, Tauriel laid her hand over the runestone that lay there. She prayed to the Valar that Legolas would find peace in his travels, that one day he might return as her friend. Life was long, especially for an elf. Although Tauriel could not say beyond shade of doubt that she would never heal enough to love another, soulful brown eyes and the word '_Amralime' _still haunted her dreams.

Rounding a corner in the road, the gates of the Woodland Realm loomed tall before her. The trickling of the forest river under the bridge, the way the sun broke through the trees to illuminate the guards in their armor, it was all exactly as it had ever been. Swallowing the anxiety building inside of her, Tauriel crossed the bridge and passed through the awaiting doors. For better or for worse, she was home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Glad you all enjoyed Tauriel's chapter, and I apologize for taking so long to update since then. Rest assured, things will be more regular for the next little while. Who knows, we might even have ourselves a wee skirmish coming... ;-) **

Grandmother was given a funeral worthy of any person of high regard. Despite the work and time required to move so much snow, the men and women of the village spent an entire day digging out the main square. Legolas gladly threw himself into the onerous task alongside the others, the better to let his thoughts turn over the old woman's final words and worry at them like a dog with a stubborn bone. Being of noble birth, Thranduil's son was not used to menial labor. The repetitive motion of shovel into snow was strangely enjoyable though; a chance to relax the mind while the body worked.

Finally the cold ground beneath the walls of white was exposed, tufts of brittle brown grass poking through here and there. It was on this that they built a bier of deadwood gathered from the forest. Legolas and the twins did most of the retrieval by virtue of their ability not to sink into the snow even with their arms laden.

Although Legolas did not speak overmuch with Elladan and Elrohir during their numerous trips back and forth between the square and the forest, their presence never more than twenty paces away was comforting. They moved like deer under the barren branches, leaving scarcely more trace than the hoofed creatures would have. By the time the sun was setting the Dunedain and the elves had finished their work.

The fading light lending the snow a golden glow, the atmosphere of the village turned quiet. Assembling together around the bier, everyone gathered their cloaks about them to keep out the chill. Even some of the folk who were afflicted with the winter sickness came out from their homes. Strider was there, tall and regal despite the redness of his nose and eyes. They all stood in a circle, awaiting the guest of honor.

A faint creaking issued from the doorway of Delia's house, and Andris's mother emerged from within. Pale but composed, she had unbound her curly brown-gray hair in a gesture of mourning to let it fall about her face and shoulders. Andris followed behind, and in his arms he carried Grandmother's body wrapped in a white shroud. The branch of a weeping willow was tucked into a fold of the cloth; a symbol for the dead.

The young ranger followed his mother along the path through the snow to the square where everyone waited in silence. With incredible tenderness for a youth with such big hands and arms, Andris laid the old woman's body atop her pyre. As though noticing an imperceptible crease in the material he paused, taking a final moment to straighten Grandmother's shroud before stepping back beside Delia.

For a moment there was no sound save the faint whistling of wind in the pines and the crackling of torches. As the shadows of evening lengthened Legolas could see new details emerging in the faces of those whom he had thought he well recognized after a month among them. Andris looked older in the firelight, his brow hooding his eyes. This was not the youth whom Legolas had wrestled with besides the river, but a man grown.

Looking at Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas could now see that there were in fact subtle differences to the twin sons of Elrond. Elladan stood somberly, but that did not keep the torchlight from contrasting his slightly softer, more rounded chin to Elrohir's sharpness. Elrohir was the elder. Legolas didn't know how he knew that with such certainty; there was just something in the way the elf stood as if subconsciously at the ready to protect his brother.

The fire was revealing new elements of everyone, things that the sunlight and moonlight could not show at a glance. Gazing at the white-wrapped figure waiting upon the pyre, Legolas wondered if perhaps Grandmother had been able to see the things in people that only fire could otherwise tell. Suddenly aware of his own flesh and blood about him the prince of Mirkwood wondered just what it was that his own face revealed.

A voice rose in the gathering darkness, strong and clear. Legolas recognized the language as Adúnaic, the tongue of the Dunedain which occasionally the rangers used among themselves. Strider spoke to all gathered, and even though Legolas could not understand what was being said he did not mind overmuch.

_"Ammê, banâth, hi-akallabêth lômi, karan minal..." _

Listening to Strider, Legolas watched his face in the firelight as well. Even despite his own illness, the Dunedain chieftain delivered the eulogy with both power and tenderness. It seemed the Adúnaic words flowed easily from his tongue, comforting and strengthening those gathered to listen. There was such an aura of regality to the man that Legolas could scarce believe they were not standing in a fine marble hall with vaulted ceilings and wine red banners upon the walls. Here in the middle of the wilderness was a ranger who conducted himself in the manner of a king.

_"His true name you must discover for yourself." _

His father's last words to him came back, murmuring like an undercurrent to Strider's flowing speech. For a moment Legolas was tempted to set his mind hard to the task, feeling that he was but a hair's breadth from connecting what he already knew to the truth of the ranger. His eyes resting once again on Grandmother's shroud though, a great feeling of calm came over the elf prince.

_"Remember how to live. That is the hardest thing to do, but the very best thing as well."_

It seemed that before the funeral pyre of a human woman whom he had only known for a matter of minutes, the caretakers of Legolas's life were speaking quietly to him. His father's voice, Grandmother's, Strider's, and even the memories of his mother singing to him in the night blended together into a chorus. The stars came out and twinkled overhead, bearing silent witness to the proceedings of the night.

Strider's eulogy came to a conclusion, and Andris and his mother laid torches to the foot of the funeral pyre. Slowly at first but then with more energy, the fire began to wind and leap along the dry wood. The many voices of doubt, regret and pride that Legolas had brought with him from the eastern side of the world had fallen into silence along with Strider's words. At last, his mind was quiet. Watching the shrouded figure of a friend and mentor fade behind a curtain of flame, Legolas knew what he must do now.

Nothing.

Although he had no doubt that Strider had the blood of kings in his veins, he would tell Legolas or not in his own good time. The man's true name was a boon to be earned, not a prize to be unearthed. Legolas was decided, and it lifted his heart with peace and a certain sort of contentment. Here in the wilderness he would remain, to live among these simple, noble people who called him friend. That was all he needed or now asked from life.

As the embers of the fire finally began to simmer and dim, people began to silently fade away into the night. Some made for their homes, especially the sick. Others followed the passages through the snowdrifts to the main hall, where even at a distance the sound of many voices could already be heard. The scent of cooking meat carried on the night air, and no doubt the casks of mead and ale would be opened to toast a long life now concluded.

Legolas felt a hand on his arm, and he at last emerged from the deep trance into which he had not noticed he had fallen. Shaking himself like a bear coming out of hibernation, he met Nerwen's dark eyes. Her shawl wrapped loosely about her shoulders, she stood ankle-deep in the snow without shivering.

"Come join everyone in the hall, Legolas. It will be getting cold out here soon."

Studying the tall woman's face in the dying firelight revealed a new facet to her as well. The high cheekbones and proud, broad forehead were vaguely reminiscent of Strider; she and the Dunedain chieftain must be related, even if distantly.

Glancing back one last time at the remains of Grandmother's funeral pyre, Legolas turned to follow Nerwen.

"What was her name?" he asked, realizing that the matriarch's name could not have been just 'Grandmother'.

With a small smile that softened her features in the firelight, Nerwen shook her head. "In truth I do not know. Grandmother was old even by the time I recall enough to know her, and has never gone by anything else."

Accepting that for what it was, Legolas walked side-by-side with the Dunedain woman toward the warm light of the hall. Inside there would be food, drink and song enough to last throughout the long dark of night.


	15. Chapter 15

**Spring is coming to Fornost! Its lovely weather here too, so its put me in a mood to write of excitement and the outdoors. Any thoughts as to potential plot elements for future inclusion? Your suggestions for a Tauriel chapter were wonderfully helpful, and I admit to needing a brief 'creative boost' for future chapters... ^_^***

The next few months passed by without ceremony as spring slowly began its triumph over winter in Fornost. Despite the enormous falls of snow, it had not been an exceptionally cold season. The Dunedain were well used to their chosen climate, and with careful rationing they had all made it through to the lengthening of days with food stores to spare.

As soon as the forest tracks had cleared enough to permit it, Strider had the rangers out and about on their usual patrol routes. No one had said it during the long evenings by the fires of the main hall, but everyone had been silently worrying. Would orcs be able to approach their position even through the snowdrifts?

Those first forays under the snow-laden boughs of the pines had revealed no tracks though. Even the deer seemed ill-inclined to go abroad in the land with such difficult terrain. As the snow continued to melt away and reveal the damp browns of a leafless forest, everyone had emerged from their homes much in the manner of bears waking from hibernation.

The turning of the seasons was a wheel marked well by the children of the Edain, and even more perhaps for the Eldar. Living forever could either blur all days into one, or make one acutely aware of every small shifting in the world around. Legolas was still a young elf, and so he greeted the coming of the light again with a joy equally matched to his mortal hosts.

Nothing made people crave the outdoors like having been trapped inside by the hearth for a season. It quickly became the routine of the village to spend as much time as possible doing their daily chores in their yards or on their front steps. The scent of bark mulch and melting snow hung like perfume on the air as Legolas sat with Gelwin and her family beneath the awning of their roof.

With deft and nimble motions Legolas was showing Gelwin how to plait her blonde hair into fishtails in the style of his people. The girl-child, thin and somewhat peaked after the winter had shown intense interest in the prince's own neatly braided hair for days now. Rather than suffer a twelve-year-old to follow him around all day now that everyone was out of their homes, Legolas had decided it was probably best to give Gelwin her own hair to play with in a new way.

He feared the effort was probably backfiring terribly on him. Gelwin sat on the chilly ground between his knees, head arched and practically purring like a cat as Legolas braided. The girl's mother and father were nearby; the woman of the house spinning wool on a spindle and her husband reinforcing the doorpost. Legolas could feel their amused glances on him from time to time, but they both tactfully remained focused on their own work for the most part.

"You could always show her the Waterfall braid, if that one you're teaching goes well enough." The ever-so-helpful suggestion came from Elladan, who was walking past with a bucket in one hand full of tar. Part of Daernon's roof had caved under the load of snow as the thaw began, and a group of five men were already up straddling the curve of the frame as they worked on the repairs.

Legolas could feel Gelwin tense with glee where she sat, and he narrowed his eyes warningly at Elladan. "Perhaps, but first she ought to master the Fishtail on her own."

It seemed everyone and their dogs knew how attached the skinny Dunedain girl had become to Legolas, and although he did not want to be unkind he also had no intention of spending undue time handling Gelwin's hair.

Gelwin's mother Bethoc came to the rescue. "Alright child, your hair looks very fine. Best to let Legolas go about his day now, yes?" Her grey eyes twinkled with smothered merriment as she nodded to the elf over her spool of wool.

"Yes Mother..." Gelwin sounded sincerely regretful as she dragged herself to her feet. Suddenly she tossed her finished braid with a flourish and turned to face Legolas. "Does it suit me do you think?" Her childish blue eyes were so earnest in the pursuit of praise that the prince could not help but oblige.

"I think your hair is certainly fine enough to wear the style well. Remember how to do it though, and you can plait it for yourself from now on."

Nerwen rounded the corner, her arms laden with damp quilts fresh from washing. Her own dark hair was coming out of its braid in haphazard wisps. "Less time spent worrying about your looks and more time spent learning how to run your own household will give you more to be proud about when you grow up, Gelwin." The woman remarked, her long stride carrying her smoothly past despite her dripping burden.

"Speaking of which..." A melodic voice sounded behind Legolas, and he turned to find Elrohir's smirk and a long pitch-brush awaiting him. "I hope you don't mind the smell of tar, _ernil-nin_."

The only reason Legolas hadn't cuffed Elrohir for addressing him as 'my prince' in front of the entire village was because the Peredhil had done it in Sindarin. He certainly didn't feel very princely about ten minutes later, up on Daernon's roof slathering the thatch with the sticky black substance that would waterproof it. Elladan and Elrohir seemed to have conveniently disappeared. When Legolas saw the twins joining in with the women hanging up washed laundry, he resisted the urge to walk over to the edge of the roof and dump a bucket of tar on their shiny black heads.

A howl sounded out, coarse above the treetops. Everyone froze in what they were doing, pitch brushes in hand and heads cocked to listen. They all knew the sound of a wolf; plaintive and pure as the moon at night. This was no such creature; the Dunedain knew just as well the hunting howl of a warg.

Legolas was dropping down off the roof before the echo had died away. The other men followed suit, the younger ones chancing the same drop as the elf with the older ones shimmying down the ladder. They all wore simple tunics and breeches for work, not a piece of armor nor weapon among them. By the time Strider called the rangers together in the square two minutes later though they all had their swords, bows and knives in hand.

"Beringil, take a party of six and follow the game trail. I want you at the mouth of the valley ready to cut off any sort of attempt at a retreat." Strider spoke with collected authority, his eyes clear and grim as he strapped on his sword belt. The older ranger nodded sharply and departed with no hesitation.

"Andris, keep back a dozen of the younger rangers here at the edge of the village. You're our failsafe; nothing gets past you. Understood?"

Legolas could easily see the brief flash of wounded pride in the tall youth's green eyes. Young warriors did not like to be kept back out of a possible fight. Still Andris acknowledged his captain's command and called out a group of other young men to join him at the grassy hill that stood between the village and the main valley pass.

Strider jerked his fingerless gloves on at the last and shouted to the rest of the rangers. "You all come with me. Where there is a warg, there is a pack." With that he plunged into the dripping trails of the forest, Legolas and the rest of the Dunedain rangers close behind.

A swinging braid caught his eye in the underbrush in front of him, and for a moment Legolas caught his breath in the back of his throat. The auburn -headed woman bounded with the rangers, as lithe and quick as a deer. She reminded him of Tauriel, if a bit darker in coloration, and Legolas was almost unsurprised to realize that the Dunedain rangers could also count women among their ranks. Humans were not all quite as different from his own people as he had thought. He imagined that Tauriel would have been pleased to meet her counterpart who ran alongside the men of Fornost with ease.

Another howl sounded, this time much closer than it had been in the village. An answering chorus confirmed that this was indeed a warg pack, well within the patrolled boundaries of the valley. Legolas counted eight at least, judging by the growing din. No doubt the invaders had scented their approach already. They were upwind, but there was little help for that. With Strider in the lead, the rangers moved with deadly haste to intercept the foul creatures. What they did not know yet was whether orcs were to be found as riders, or if this was a wild pack come down from the north.

Stopping abruptly, Strider signaled with quick gestures to the rangers. Immediately a number of them began to shimmy up the trees surrounding the small glen, bows and quivers thumping on their backs. Legolas considered the option, but decided against following suit. He was quick enough with his bow that he was reasonably confident in entering a ground skirmish using it. Ducking into the brush along with Strider, he glimpsed Elladan and Elrohir only briefly before they too vanished into the damp forest. Within seconds the entire squad of rangers had disappeared in plain sight, awaiting their prey...

Strider had charted their course well. Within a minute they could all hear the crashing that heralded the passage of large paws. No doubt the wargs could smell them, but if they could be kept uncertain of the rangers' exact location until the last possible moment so much the better.

The first beast exploded into the glen in a shower of dead branches, slavering mightily at the jaws. Its scrawny ribs showed clearly beneath its fur, and its yellow eyes burned with ferocious hunger. Three others were fast on its tail, equally emaciated. Legolas would have been tempted to feel pity for the creatures, if their hunger weren't so obviously driving them to hunt the village.

An arrow came whizzing down out of one of the trees. Thin, fox-faced Asvard was an excellent shot if somewhat overzealous. The shot struck the lead warg in the shoulder, where it lodged somewhat harmlessly in the shoulder blade. It was tempting to curse; an inch higher and it would have been a lethal wound.

Knowing they had found their quarry, the wargs burst into a foaming, slavering nightmare with teeth. With howls that rated fairly high on the crazed scale even for these foul beasts, they leapt at the brush anywhere where they thought they might find a ranger.

Legolas stood and loosed an arrow, the twang of his bowstring a familiar tune. His shot hit the mark, striking a warg squarely between the eyes. The bony creature fell over like a boned fish, and Legolas danced forward already seeking another target. More howls erupted from the forest nearby, suggesting these four were only just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

The winter had been harsh, small wonder the carnivores were now being driven to hunt. What separated wargs from other creatures of the wilds though was their propensity to hunt humans without fear. That, and their tendency to allow orcs to ride them when it suited both parties' purposes for mutual foulness. Wargs were not intelligent, but they had their own manner of cruel awareness.

Notching another arrow to the string, Legolas drew it back to his ear and sighted quickly along the shaft. One of the only drawbacks to fighting alongside other elves (besides those who were trained to work together within a realm) was how quickly they moved. One moment Elladan was dropping out a tree across the glen, the next he was perilously close to Legolas's line of fire. Choosing a safer target, Legolas shot and killed a warg which was trying to claw its way up the mottled bark to Daernon's perch.

"Legolas, mind your flank!" Asvard shouted from his tree-top vantage point.

A smaller warg, more easily missed in the skirmishing had managed to get around behind the attack. It was close enough for Legolas to smell the stench that rolled off its tatty hide. This was far closer than he usually preferred to use a bow. There was no help for it though; the warg had already coiled on its haunches and sprung. Loading an arrow in record time, Legolas angled his shot upward at the warg as it leapt at him and loosed the string.


	16. Chapter 16

**Today's chapter is nice and long, enjoy! **

The arrow flew short but true; the warg was dead before it landed, even with its claws still out and slavering drool. The deadweight of a paw landed on Legolas's shoulder, but the elf was already moving. Spinning on the spot brought his reloaded bow to bear in the direction of the nearest threat. With a_ hiss_ Legolas sent the quarrel burrowing beneath the bony ribs of the warg as it snapped at Strider's heels. Having been otherwise occupied with the furry behemoth's cousin, Strider jerked his chin appreciatively.

"How many wargs do you count, _gwador-nin_?" Elladan shouted as he buried his sword point behind a snarling jaw.

"Twelve here, six upstream." Came the answering call from Elrohir, who stood perched on a rotten log before leaping over a warg and stabbing it from behind.

The sound of yips and snapping bowstrings came echoing through the damp forest as if in answer. "Not six anymore I should think." Said Elladan, looking around the clearing in satisfaction as Strider's group of rangers finished off the remaining wargs. "It sounds like Beringil and the others found the stragglers."

When Legolas shot the final warg that remained in the clearing, it let out an agonized howl that likely could be heard for leagues around. Everyone winced at the sound, Strider included. None of them enjoyed killing wild animals, but the wargs fell into a category somewhat apart from your average bear.

"Everyone alright?" Strider called out, wiping the blood from his sword with a corner of his cloak.

"We're all here Strider!" One by one the rangers sounded off as they came sliding down from the trees. Those who had fought on the ground likewise confirmed they were intact.

Elladan sidled up to his brother with a grin. "That was three for me. What about your count Elrohir?"

With a raised eyebrow Legolas watched the brothers from Imladris compare their kill-tally. 'What an odd thing to do.', he thought to himself. It was not as if there was a prize to be won, except perhaps in warg pelts. The thought of the rank odor of warg filling the tiny cabin the twins shared made Legolas subconsciously wrinkle his nose.

Straightening up and brushing the mulch from his knees, Strider gave a loud whistle. "Ai, Beringil! Is everyone still in one piece over there?"

"We're alright Captain, just a few scratches here and there." Beringil's voice was already sounding closer; no doubt the other group of rangers had finished with their bloody work and were fast approaching.

Asvard cleared his throat. "Ah, Legolas...?"

Having been about to set to work reclaiming his arrows from the warg carcasses, Legolas paused. "Yes?"

The narrow-faced ranger made an indistinct noise, gesturing at Legolas as if he were trying to suggest there were a rather large insect on the elf's shoulder. Putting a hand to the joint of his arm, Legolas nearly jerked in surprise when he felt something distinctly warm and sticky.

"Aiya! You're hurt mellon-nin!" Elladan exclaimed, his and Elrohir's little competition instantly forgotten.

Oddly enough Legolas felt no pain whatsoever. That either meant the injury was not so very bad...or very serious indeed. Flipping back the ripped edges of cloak he examined the damage as best he could by cranking his neck. The warg he shot earlier must have clipped him with its claws as it fell.

Strider was already at Legolas's side. His shaggy dark hair was tangled with leaves and sweat, but his gaze was deeply concerned.

"May I see it?"

The man's voice was low, hesitating to lay hand on the elf until he had received consent. For a brief moment a flicker of pride tempted Legolas to refuse. He had only very rarely taken hurts while fighting throughout his life; Thranduil ensured his son was incredibly well trained. Whenever he had received a knick or cut before Legolas had always withdrawn to privacy and treated it by himself. In fact, he had never before received medical attention from anyone else's hands. Then again, he had never before had an injury so determined to ruin his clothes with blood. With a curt nod Legolas lowered his other hand away from his shoulder, giving Strider a clear look.

"Daernon, meet up with Beringil and head back to the village. I want scouts posted at the entrance to the valley and up on the ridge." Strider had already set to work carefully peeling back the edges of ripped tunic from Legolas's arm. "We will follow shortly."

The barrel-chested ranger bowed briefly, his eyes flitting back and forth between Strider and Legolas where they stood in the middle of the clearing before turning away.

"You heard the Captain, back to the village." He called to the others. The rest of the rangers melted away with surprisingly silent steps into the brush.

Legolas let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With only Strider, Elladan and Elrohir remaining, he didn't feel quite so exposed in letting them see his arm.

"I trust it's nothing serious?" he asked, speaking perhaps more flippantly than he'd meant.

Elrohir had moved in closer, eyes narrow as he appraised the damage over Strider's shoulder. When Strider peeled back the final layer of sodden tunic, the Peredhil let out a low whistle.

"It sure isn't anything to look at unfortunately." Elrohir exclaimed, earning him a sharp look from Elladan. "That's the first time I've seen a dead warg leave its mark!"

"Elrohir!" Elladan scolded, pulling his brother back out of Strider's way. Glancing at Legolas, the younger twin gave a limp excuse for a grin. "The claws only cut shallow tracks, but I should think you're going to get more than a few stitches out of the deal."

Strider glanced up and nodded at the twins. "I agree Elladan, the wound are more scratches than anything serious. However, they will need thorough cleaning and stitching I'm afraid." He looked apologetically at Legolas.

"Imagine what wargs must have under their nails!" Elrohir said with a burst of horrified mirth. Legolas couldn't help but shudder at the thought, a burning sensation finally beginning to make itself know from his shoulder. "You'll be growing fungus within the hour!"

With a clear _'a-hem'_, Strider rolled his eyes. "Well you could certainly tell us, couldn't you?" This seemed to be an inside reference, for Elrohir instantly colored and Elladan hooted with laughter. Taking care to lay a hand on Legolas's good shoulder, the ranger spoke once again to the Sindarin elf. "Shall we go back then? I have everything needed to tend the scratches at home."

Gingerly drawing his cloak up to cover the bleeding site as best he could, Legolas nodded. Pointedly ignoring both chortling twins he fell into step beside Strider. He was unused to both being hurt and being teased, and especially not both at the same time. Still it was better than being coddled, and he thanked the Valar it hadn't been anything serious. The last thing in all Middle-Earth he could ever want would be to need _carrying_ back to the village.

It seemed the rangers had held their tongues, and Legolas gratefully ducked past the main square and up the hill to Strider's home in relative peace. Elladan and Elrohir broke off once they passed the cabin, but not without parting well-wishes.

Once Legolas had been seated on a stool before the hearth they both set to work carefully peeling his tunic off. The garment was one big red stain across the right shoulder, and Legolas grumbled internally at the thought of having to mend the seams. Needlework was not his favorite activity; it had been years since he had stitched anything.

"I will admit I am surprised that even a dead warg's claws could do this." Strider remarked as they waited for a handful of rosemary and lavender to boil. The two herbs were both excellent cleansers, especially when taken together.

Legolas half-grimaced, half-smiled. "So am I. It serves me right for having my back turned though."

Strider chuckled, taking the roiling pot off the heat with a cloth. "No, _this_ will serve you right I fear. The more painless the wound at first, the more it tends to sting when cleansed." The Dunedain gathered up a clean wad of cotton and dipped it into the herb water. "I apologize in advance."

Unfortunately, Strider was not kidding. The second the steaming cloth hit his raw skin, Legolas jerked and drew in a hissing breath through his teeth. The long trailing scratch marks ran from the top of his shoulder to his pectoral muscle on the right side. Four red trenches laid him open atop his chest, now blazing with heat and irritation like fire coals.

"Sorry." Strider repeated apologetically, dipping the cloth back into the kettle. The next time he touched the scratches Legolas was ready, and comfortable silence fell.

Legolas could not even begin to recall the last time someone had laid a hand on him in such a familiar manner. His father never touched him, had not since he was a much younger elfling. Tauriel certainly had never, either out of deference for their respective ranks or perhaps a subconscious desire to keep the status quo of their relationship intact. Come to think of it, the last person who had handled Legolas was not even really a person, but that disgusting creature Bolg whom he had grappled with in Laketown.

Something as simple as contact with another person was a foreign luxury, and Legolas found himself relaxing by degrees as Strider tended his hurts. Elves on the whole were not particularly inclined to physical displays of affection or companionship. The relationships of his people were more emotionally and mentally slanted, first and foremost. When Strider brushed aside his long silvery blond hair to better see his work, Legolas understood why Gelwin had so enjoyed their earlier lessons in braiding. Perhaps he couldn't fault mortals for their propensity to touch one another. It was after all rather pleasant, like a physical reminder that a friend was nearby. Legolas didn't even mind the calluses of Strider's rough hands, so unlike the silky softness of elven fingers.

The pleasantry of the moment was short-lived, broken when Strider brought out his sewing kit. It had not been idle threats that the claw marks would need stitching.

Footsteps crunching over the dry grass outside reached Legolas's ears, and he perked up suddenly. Thinking he had poked the elf a bit too sharply that last time, Strider hesitated with the needle in midair.

"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing at Legolas with concerned grey eyes.

Legolas flicked his gaze to the door, taking care not to let his shoulder follow the gesture. Having a needle and thread at work in one's flesh did encourage a certain degree of reticence toward movement.

"Someone is coming, are you expecting company?"

Strider shook his head. "Nay, but I can tell you who it likely is..." Legolas had to resist the urge to flinch as the ranger set back to work putting in stitches. When the expected knock came, Strider called out calmly "Enter!"

Nerwen's tall frame was silhouetted against the bright light in the doorway for a moment, a basket under her arm. Barely waiting for an invitation, Nerwen crossed the hearthrug to lean over where Strider was patching up Legolas's shoulder.

"That's going to scar." She said casually. Then, kneeling and gathering up Legolas's discarded tunic, she added it to the basket on her hip. "Would you like a poultice to keep the itching down?"

"If you would be so kind." Legolas said after a slight hesitation. A quick glance at Strider caught the amusement on the man's face as Nerwen turned away toward the kitchen.

"The woman can smell blood like a hunting hound...if not better!" Strider murmured, his voice low enough that Nerwen did not overhear. "You'll be glad of her poultices though."

"Spoken like one who has worn them often enough to know." Legolas noted with a half-smile. Strider had gone back to his stitching, and the elf was beginning to pity quilts.

Apparently Nerwen's ears were keener than Strider thought. Coming back in from the kitchen, she was already crushing herbs between a small mortar and pestle. Dark eyes sweeping in reminiscence over unseen scars on Strider's arms, torso and legs, the woman shook her head.

"More than you know, my friend. More than you know." Nerwen's gaze likewise appraised Legolas's slender and otherwise unmarked torso. For some reason Legolas felt his ears heat; he hoped she didn't think his lack of scars indicated lack of experience. Among the Eldar, a lack of scars was a sign of great competence in battle. From what he had gathered it was somewhat the opposite among mortals.

Strider finished the last stitch with a small tug, biting the thread to break it off. "There. I am afraid my stitches are not the finest, but it ought to heal well now." By way of demonstration, the ranger patted the flesh just beside one of the scratches. It was tender, but the irritated heat was already fading.

"Thank you Strider, I appreciate it." Legolas meant the sentiment. He had a feeling that Strider understood the pride behind a lack of scars for an elf. It was stupid really, that a moment's inattention today would have earned him his first one.

Putting out a hand to prevent Legolas rising, Nerwen took up Strider's vacated place on the stool.

"My turn." She said, giving the pestle one last good grind before adding water to the developing poultice. When Strider gave a helpless shrug, Legolas got the impression that Nerwen took a fair amount of professional pride in her contribution to the healing process. Resigned and at the same time looking forward to further handling before the day was out, Legolas gave his shoulder an experimental stretch.

Nerwen made a sound in the back of her throat. "I know your sort, Legolas." She said warningly in answer to Legolas's glance. "You'll be looking to use that bow of yours as soon as possible. Now I can't forbid as much in the name of healing, but I can assure you that if you tear those stitches, I'll put them back in with my largest threading needle."

Thoroughly alarmed at the threat of such torture, Legolas shot a pleading look at Strider. The traitor was clearly siding with Nerwen though. Rolling up one side of his tunic, Strider revealed a puckered but quite old scar on his side.

"I learned firsthand, Nerwen does not jest. I've never forgotten...the re-stitching was worse than the actual wound!"

Unsure whether the two Dunedain were actually making fun or not, Legolas could only grimace at the thought as Nerwen began plastering her poultice across his shoulder and chest. Unlike Strider's, her fingers were thoroughly chilled, and he shivered involuntarily. There was still much he had to learn regarding mortal humor it seemed.


	17. Chapter 17

**All aboard the Feels Train! *Evil laughter* Dis features in the chapter, she and Tauriel have a wee chat about Kili and yeah...have fun with that. There is also an Easter Egg in here for members of the Facebook role-play community; 'somebody' makes a guest appearance! **

The Halls of the Woodland Realm looked just as Tauriel remembered them, all soaring ceilings and graceful causeways everywhere one looked. Almost instinctively the former Captain of the Guard turned to descend the steps to the barracks. Barely Tauriel stopped herself; this was not the end of a routine patrol, but an official ambassador's visit. With a regretful sigh she instead set her course along the twisting walkways toward the king's throne at the heart of the palace. How many evenings had she hung up her bow on the pegs lining the barracks walls, the cheerful conversations of her fellow guards echoing throughout the room?

Still, walking these familiar halls felt like at least something of a homecoming. In her seven hundred and thirty years Tauriel had thoroughly lost count of the number of times she had approached the king on his throne. This time was different though. This time would be her first as an 'outsider' of sorts, it having been nearly four months since last she had passed through the gates of the Woodland Realm.

It appeared that Tauriel was not the only ambassador to be making their report to Thranduil today. A tall elf with dark hair and clad in gray robes was already standing before the throne, deep in conversation with the king. Lord Galvalon of Imladris, if Tauriel recalled correctly. Valar, but that Noldorin elf could wind Thranduil right up with their negotiations! Grimacing slightly to herself, Tauriel couldn't help but think it was just her luck that the king would be in verbal dueling mode once she got her turn to speak.

"I assure you, my Lord Elrond is being entirely reasonable when he says that the southern wine cannot cross the mountains before spring melts the high passes, Your Majesty."

"And yet our folk were able to send a number of fine breeding stallions by such paths to Imladris when the Solstice was not two weeks past."

This back-and-forth would likely continue for some time, each finding fault with the other's offer and previous business dealings until a satisfactory arrangement was reached. Tauriel certainly hoped Thranduil didn't expect her to take up bartering as a new skill. For the time being, neither Dale nor Erebor were in quite a fit state yet to take up trading once again anyways. Most of the news Tauriel bore had to do with the rebuilding processes and the arrival of Lady Dis from the Blue Mountains.

That had been a horribly difficult interview. Tauriel could still remember every detail of their conversation as if it played out within her mind continually. It had started with the runestone...

_The Lady Dis had arrived in Erebor as the winter snows fell, blanketing the Lonely Mountain with a veil of white. The party had been a small but dignified one, with the late Thorin Oakenshield's sister riding at its head. One look at the dwarrowdam had been enough to make one question whether a Queen Under the Mountain would be more appropriate, rather than Dain Ironfoot sitting on the throne. _

_Tauriel had been standing upon the gate as Dis rode across the causeway underneath. Even at that distance though, the Silvan elf's sharp eyes could clearly see Thrain's daughter. Like her brother, Dis was unusually tall for a dwarf. 'Like her son as well.' Tauriel had thought, with a sharp pang that squeezed her heart in a vice grip. The dwarf lady was dark of hair and eye, her tresses and beard woven together seamlessly into one pattern of five and three-stranded plaints. It was clear that Dis had come in state, judging by the fine quality of the gown and cloak she wore. Dark circles of grief stood out clearly on the mother's face, but her chin remained aloft at a proud angle as she approached the throne on which Dain sat. _

_Dain had risen as Dis approached, removing the crown from his head of scarlet hair. Placing it to the side, Ironfoot descended the short steps to greet his cousin as equals._

_"Dis..." Dain spoke first, completely running over-top of any attempt by a herald to begin formal presentations. The young dwarf standing to one side had gaped like a fish for a moment before wisely shutting his mouth. _

_"You are looking well, Dain." Dis's voice was low, a strong yet feminine rumble. Raising her gaze to the throne behind Ironfoot, Tauriel had clearly noted how those dark eyes had marked the conspicuous absence of the Arkenstone. "Is it with him?"_

_No clarification had been needed of the question. Without even glancing over his shoulder at the empty casing where the Arkenstone one shone above Thror's head, Dain had nodded. _

_"Yes. We buried the stone with Thorin. He earned it, right and proper." _

_Dis had nodded, her calm expression betraying the multitude of emotions that everyone present could feel rippling through the air. _

_"Take me to them."_

_Everyone had been expecting this. With a gesture, Dain had beckoned Dis forward around the throne. Together, the two dwarf cousins, one fiery and one dark had left the throne room in the direction of the catacombs. _

_Thorin, Fili and Kili had been buried in the rock of the mountain, in three tombs side-by-side-by-side. Tauriel remembered the day of the funerals. Dwarvish customs were rougher, less refined and somehow more visceral than those of the elves. Many had wept freely and openly, and the funeral drums had echoed through the stone halls like a heartbeat. The moment those drums had stopped, symbolic of the end of life, Tauriel herself had been unable to hold back from tears. The young one named Ori had been on hand to offer a handkerchief though, one of the first gestures of kindness she had received from a dwarf other than Kili. _

_With Dis and Dain gone below to the tombs, everyone had mostly resumed their day in Erebor. Tauriel had gone back to helping Balin get plans laid for a moss garden. The plants were one of the few that dwarves cultured on a regular basis, mostly for medicinal purposes. _

_That evening though, as Tauriel had been sitting down to dinner in the main mess hall at her usual lonely table she had been surprised to be approached. Although occasionally Balin, Bofur or even Ori would join her for a brief chat, mostly the dwarves of Erebor treated her like a piece of furniture. Dain had made an announcement (at the prompting of Balin) stating that Tauriel was present as an ambassador for the Woodland Realm, and as such should be treated with courtesy. That evidently did not extend to friendliness, especially not from such suspicious folk as the dwarves._

_The porter shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Clearly some sort of unspoken taboo was being broken by addressing the resident elf._

_"The Lady Dis requests your presence in her audience chambers, Ambassador."_

_Tauriel had been taken aback. Had someone mentioned the nature of her relationship to Kili to the grieving mother? She couldn't imagine why anyone would, given the sort of gossip that was likely to spread. Washing down the bitter thoughts with a last swallow of mead, Tauriel rose and followed after the porter through the maze of Erebor's passages. _

_Dis had been given one of the finest sets of rooms in the mountain, as was only fitting. The dwarrowdam was waiting for Tauriel when she arrived, her back to the door as she sat and watched the fire on the hearth. When the porter announced Tauriel's presence, Dis had risen and slowly turned to face her._

_Up close, Tauriel could more closely see the threads of silver spreading through Dis's elaborate tresses at the temples and chin. As an elf the idea of a bearded female certainly didn't hit the aesthetic mark, but even so Dis was undeniably striking. Meeting her gaze, Tauriel's breath hitched in her throat. Never again had she thought to see Kili's eyes, gazing steadily into her own. _

_The moment passed, and Dis indicated the chair opposite hers at the hearth with a wave. Tauriel thought she heard the dwarf lady sigh._

_"So it is true then. I was not prepared to believe it when Oin told me as much."_

_"Your pardon?" Tauriel asked, pausing in mid-stride as she crossed the room. The flickering firelight made Dis look older and more careworn than she had in the throne room._

_"I have heard of how my son was prepared to face his uncle's wrath and judgement by bringing you to Erebor with him. And how you left your own prince's side to tend to Kili's wounds when they endangered his life." Dis once again sat, smoothing her heavily embroidered skirts in a distinctly lady-like gesture. "That gesture must have cost you."_

_Bracing herself for what was shaping up to be a highly personal conversation, Tauriel had taken her own seat. The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, giving her a moment to gather herself._

_"Yes, it did."_

_"You remain here still, after all your kin have long since returned to the forest. No doubt you have paid for your involvement with my son, and with my brother's quest as a whole."_

_Rather than look Dis in the eye and see Kili looking back at her once again, Tauriel had gazed into the firelight. "It was a fair price."_

_Dis raised a finely-arched brow. "Was it then? Tell me, what exactly did you think existed between yourself and Kili?" When Tauriel opened her mouth, Dis cut her off. "My youngest was brash, far too bold and enthusiastic for his own good. He often made rash choices, without thinking of the consequences. Tell me, Tauriel, were you one of those choices?"_

_Offended not for her own sake but for Kili's, Tauriel narrowed her eyes. "Your son was also brave, and true to the last to what he believed in. He fought and died for your brother's quest to reclaim this very mountain. I think Kili may have changed somewhat since last you knew him, Lady Dis." The words came out through gritted teeth, becoming somewhat thicker toward the end as her throat closed in grief._

_ "No doubt he must have." Dis said tartly. Suddenly her sharp, raptor-like gaze softened. "And I believe you are right in that regard. A mother prays to keep her children young and innocent for always, much like they were in their smaller days." Just as abruptly Dis's gaze became keen again. "You may be wrong on another point though. I hear that, as much as my son died fighting for Thorin's quest, he also died fighting for you, Tauriel." _

_The words had stung like a dart. Tauriel bowed her head, working hard to keep her feelings in check. There was only one thing to say to a mother after a pronouncement like that._

_"Just as I would have died for him, if fate had allowed me to do so." _

_"...Look at me, elf."_

_Tauriel had reluctantly obeyed, forcing herself to look up. There again, Kili's eyes watched her out of the face of Thorin's sister. The sight was heart-wrenching, taking her back to the last time she and the dwarf she loved had exchanged looks laden with unfulfilled promises, grief and apology. _

_"Kili had upon his person a runestone, you may have seen it. I gave it to him, and according to Dwalin it was not with him when he was borne down Ravenhill." Dis watched Tauriel with an unreadable expression. "Do you know what became of it?"_

_Slowly, Tauriel's hand went to the pouch around her neck where she carried the stone. It rested beneath her jerkin, next to her heart. _

_"I have it. Kili gave it to me...as a promise."_

_"May I see it?"_

_With reluctant slowness, Tauriel had removed the runestone from the leather pouch and handed it to Dis. The dwarrowdam turned it over and over in her work-roughened fingers, its polished surface glinting green in the firelight. Neither of them spoke, the ghosts of the fallen sons of Durin hanging between them in the air like incense. _

_Finally, Dis had lifted her gaze to Tauriel. With a small, sad smile, she held the runestone up to the light._

_"You know, I ought to have many, many regrets in my life. I have lost my husband to the blades of war, as well as my grandfather and likely my father. Now I have paid respects to the graves of my brother and my sons. My only regret is that I did not take up the sword at their sides. Perhaps, if fate had been kinder, I might now lie in quiet slumber beside my dear ones." Beckoning for Tauriel's hand, Dis took hold of the elf's slender fingers. "Instead it falls to us to grieve, and to remember." A solid, warm weight settled on Tauriel's palm, and Dis closed her fingers over Kili's runestone._

_"Lady Dis..."_

_"Fili would never have allowed anyone to get close to his brother whom he feared might hurt him. He must have trusted you, and Kili must have loved you, to give you such a promise." Dis sat back in her chair, looking sad and tired. "That is enough for me." _

Now, waiting to give her report to the king, Tauriel's hand once again came to rest on the pouch on her breast. There the promise remained, frozen in time like the facets of the green stone. It may have been only a fleeting moment, but it was real. And that was good enough for Tauriel.

"Ambassador?" Thranduil's voice cut through the air, sharp as broken glass. Negotiations with Rivendell's representative must have been trying indeed. "I trust you have news from Erebor to share?"

Clearing her throat and stepping up to the throne, Tauriel braced herself. The king looked just as welcoming as ever. Still, she could not help but wonder if she saw a flicker of emotion pass over Thranduil's face at the former Captain of the Guard's return to the Woodland Realm.


	18. Chapter 18

**Another weekend, another chapter. Sorry folks, no Gelwin trying to doctor Legolas this time. Don't worry though, I have some ideas in mind. The health care worker in me couldn't resist sliding in a little anatomy joke at the end...Yay, Legolas's first pun! *So proud***

By the Valar, but he was sore. Every time he tried to raise his arm more than a few degrees, Legolas's entire shoulder lit up with pain like a bonfire. Even regular applications of Nerwen's poultice were only marginally helpful in bringing down the irritation of the healing warg scratches. It seemed Elrohir had not been joking about the cleanliness of the creatures' claws.

Far be it from Legolas to complain though. Standing at the doorway of Strider's home, he took in a deep breath of the spring air. He loved this time of year. Everything smelled so poignantly_ alive_, even if the plants were not yet sprouting and the trees remained leafless. It would have been a perfect time to join the other warriors of the Woodland Realm at the archery range, shooting and talking and just generally enjoying the rejuvenation that came with the season.

Instead, he listened to the sounds of raised voices coming from behind him and sighed slightly. Strider never got angry, barely ever even raised his voice unless needed. It seemed that as much as Strider's second-in-command Beringil was reliable and trustworthy, the older ranger also had a talent for getting his chieftain stirred up.

"I'm telling you Strider, it can only lead to trouble, going up into the northeast toward Angmar. You know better than I that trolls lurk positively thick in there!"

For the hundredth time, Strider kneaded his eyes. "I'm aware of that. But are you really prepared to spend yet another summer lying awake at night wondering what will be coming down out of the north next?"

Beringil slapped his hand on a tabletop, making the mugs there rattle dangerously. "Damn it all, you know I don't like it any more than you! But is it really worth sending good rangers up into those fell hills looking for danger?"

Folding his arms gingerly, Legolas leaned against the door jamb and tried to enjoy the sound of the breeze as it passed through the valley. The two men had been at this for going on an hour now. It had been Strider who had broached the idea with Beringil of sending a party up north into the mountains before the rivers swelled with run-off waters. Apparently, while getting some respite due to the deep snows each winter, the Dunedain village was positively plagued by all manner of foul creatures coming down from the lands of Angmar as the weather warmed. To say nothing of how difficult it made defending the borders of the quiet lands to the south. Strider wanted to see if they could catch any nests of trolls and/or wargs unawares as they came out of hibernation, and destroy them before they could spread.

"Wasn't the warg attack yesterday evidence enough Beringil?" Strider was saying, his tone barely containing frustration. "The beasts have multiplied in number, and are hungrier than they've ever been. The Battle of Five Armies in Erebor lessened the numbers of orcs and goblins, yes, but the wild creatures are just as numerous as they have ever been."

"It's a fool's errand, and you know it." Beringil ground out. "Strider, you've always asked me to speak my mind to you, and I do so now. Just what are you intending to prove, going up into Angmar's lands?"

The mention of Angmar sent a shiver down Legolas's spine that had nothing to do with the waning chill of winter. The last time he had been there, he had been forced to recall his mother's death firsthand. It was not a place he was eager to return to. Still he kept his back turned to the debate, his keen ears picking up every word and inflection. The elf did not need to see faces to read people.

"Prove?" Strider spoke softly, making the word all the more unsettling for some reason. "You mistake me, my friend. Do you believe that I would carelessly risk the lives of our people for the sake of my own pride?"

A long rumbling sigh followed. "No, of course not. I do not understand the course of action you propose though. We can manage these creatures as they trickle down through the foothills in small groups. You really think even the largest party we could manage to send would be able to handle entire nests of wargs, trolls, and whatever else might be up there?"

"We have an advantage in allies at the moment, an advantage that I am inclined to put my faith in." Strider raised his voice slightly, not in anger but to imply that this conversation now included three. "Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas, all here in our village at one time. Three skilled elvish warriors, able in stealth, woodcraft and scouting. Surely there could be none more capable of leading a party into the north?"

Raising his eyebrows, Legolas turned and surrendered his pretense of non-partisanship. "You are opportunistic, Estel."

Now it was Strider's turn to quirk an eyebrow at Legolas's use of the twins' nickname for him. "Perhaps. I also know capability when I see it. What are your thoughts, Legolas?"

No doubt it was a dangerous thing that Strider was asking of him. And also an enormous gesture of trust. To put himself and the Peredhil brothers in command of such a party was essentially to put the lives of many good rangers in their hands. That did not make the thought of seeing Angmar again any easier though.

"Have you discussed this idea with Elladan and Elrohir?" Legolas asked.

"It was they who recommended you for this expedition." Strider gave a small, rueful smile. "I had originally intended to lead the party myself. It sits ill with me not to commit just as much to such a venture as anyone else whom I would ask to go. They however reminded me that, having no heirs, my responsibility is to this village and its keeping."

Finally Beringil seemed pleased with something Strider had said. "And they're right, Captain. I still say it's a fool's errand, but even more so if you decide to go gallivanting off on it."

Legolas could see how much Strider was struggling with having come up with such a potentially dangerous idea, only to learn that he could not personally assume the inherent risks. He sympathized with the young chieftain; the price of leadership was often more bitter than just one's own life and limbs.

"I think it is beyond doubt a hazardous mission, fraught with danger for all who would dare go seeking the enemy in the north." Legolas chose his words carefully. "But it also has the potential for saving much trouble and worry in the future. You are thinking that, with the orcs and goblins depleted in battle, now is as good an opportunity as any to clean out the high fells?"

Strider nodded, the smile widening on his face. "You follow my thoughts exactly, Legolas. I know it is much to ask of you. These are not your lands, nor your kin. Still, I ask it all the same; will you go north to help lead my men?"

The memory of the grim looks on everyone's faces in the village when they had heard the wargs' howls yesterday came to Legolas's mind. He had seen that look of resignation in the face of danger before, on the faces of his own people. The folk of the Woodland Realm were becoming far too used to daily incursions by spiders, goblins, and whatever else from the south and the mountains. More than once Legolas had wished he could grant his people peace of mind, the freedom to just live without worrying about what lay beyond the doorway. He did not know what was happening in his homeland, but perhaps he could give such a gift to the Dunedain.

"I will go." He answered calmly. "How soon did you plan for this party to set out?"

Beringil chewed an edge of his greying mustache. "In a week." When Legolas's gaze shot to him in surprise the ranger shrugged. "I still think it's a bad idea, but that doesn't mean I'm craven."

"Will your shoulder be healed sufficiently by then?" Strider nodded meaningfully at the stiff angle of Legolas's arm. Both he and Nerwen had attempted to bully the elf into wearing a sling, but Legolas had flatly refused. He did not need to walk about advertising his own carelessness to the world.

"It will be, rest assured of that." Answered Legolas with a dismissive wave. "If I were not afraid of the threat of a darning needle, I would be out limbering up with my bow already."

At this both Strider and Beringil laughed. Shaking his head, Beringil actually smiled at Legolas.

"There may be hope for you yet elf. And here I was thinking you hadn't a single humorous bone in your body."

"It came close I think. Luckily mine is still intact." With a wry chuckle, Legolas laid a hand gently on the bandages on his upper arm, beneath which his _humerus_ bone lay.

Now Strider really was roaring with laughter, although Beringil hesitated slightly, not getting the jest. Slapping his knee and pausing for breath, Strider tried his best to collect himself before speaking.

"It is a joke of anatomy, my friend. You see..."

Beringil snorted. "Keep your new-found humor in one piece, elf. You're going to need it once we get into the trolls nests of the high fells."

Although he had been to Angmar before, Legolas saw no sense in bringing that up at the moment. No point in ruining the moment with sad recollections. He just hoped that they would not be making any new ones with this venture.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hooray hooray, time for an adventure! Goodness only knows what Legolas, the twins and a bunch of rangers will get up to in the north...  
>One quick thing; I love it when ya'll provide feedbackplot ideas. However, trying to badger me one way or another about how 'InsertNameHere' and Legolas should be together will probably not work. I have a storyline in my mind, and even the most convincing arguments are unlikely to influence romantic sub-plots. Enjoy!**

Time travels quickly when a trial is approaching. Elves are keen to note such things as variances in the passage of time, especially since they have near-infinite amounts of it to spend. As such, Legolas found himself packing his travelling bag for the journey north what seemed like only days after the conversation with Strider and Beringil. The prince traveled light, and so the preparations did not take long at all. By the time the sun set on the eve of their departure he had everything he would need strapped to the harness of his quiver. With nothing left to do but wait, the night seemed very long indeed.

Legolas rose early the next morning, earlier even than Strider. The young Dunedain chieftain's senses were so sharply attuned though that the slight noises of motions Legolas made were enough to wake him. The two of them set about getting breakfast silently, their shadows long on the walls against the candlelight. Both had much to mull over; Strider, his frustration at not being able to accompany the party into Angmar, and Legolas his reticence to see that cursed place again at all. Sitting across the small table from one another, both elf and man were almost too lost in their private thoughts to register each other's presence as they ate.

Ducking outside, Legolas wrapped his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. Most of the village had turned out to see the rangers off, and their breath rose as a multitude of white puffs in the chilly morning air. All spoke in low voices, and the mood in the square was distinctly somber. Even the children knew that this foray was no small amount of dangerous.

Elladan and Elrohir were already present, their voices one of the few carrying cheerful tones as they bantered with a pair of teenage girls. The young women stood tall and dignified under the watchful eyes of their parents, but even so their dark eyes twinkled as they giggled at the Peredhil twins' jests.

"Are you certain you wouldn't want one of those giant bats they breed up there for a pet? Elladan and I could surely bring back a few of the young ones."

Elladan jumped aboard the only half-joking offer. "Surely one of those would make an even better mouser than that tabby you have there."

The shorter of the girls looked down at the grey cat winding between her heels and turned pink, vehemently shaking her head.

"Oh no my lords! A giant bat would carry off not just the mice but the cats and dogs too!"

The spot of merriment between Elrond's sons and the daughters of the village farrier faded into the background as more and more of the rangers emerged from their homes. Not all would be going north on this expedition, but even those remaining behind seemed to be present. Legolas exchanged a sideways glance with Strider. The Dunedain were skilled woodsmen and brave fighters, but simply not the physical equivalent of elves. However Legolas might feel about venturing into the lands of Angmar, these folk had even more cause for a small share of anxiety.

A door squeaked as it opened nearby, and Legolas was almost surprised to see Andris step out into the rising sunlight dressed to travel. The young man's father had apparently been dead for some years, now leaving just Andris and his mother Delia in the household. Sure enough, Delia appeared behind her son on the threshold, her patchwork shawl drawn nearly as tightly as her expression. Andris turned and bent to embrace his mother, hiding her rapidly-graying hair from view behind a broad shoulder. After a moment they broke apart, and Andris strode purposefully out to join the silent ranks of rangers where they stood mingling with their families.

Beringil was also there with his wife, the round faced Enid. Although she was not by any stretch of the imagination an attractive woman, Beringil stood speaking quietly to her with all the deference one might show a queen. Enid inclined her head, acknowledging some parting thing her husband had said. Then, with a swift motion, she stuffed a long braid of shorn-off chestnut hair into Beringil's hands. The older ranger looked up with surprise, then lifted a hand to touch the scarf that covered Enid's head. It was a tender moment, one that Legolas almost found himself surprised to have seen featuring the gruff mortal.

"Legolas. Might I have a moment?"

Nerwen's firm voice was unmistakable, and Legolas turned to greet her with a nod. To be honest, he half-expected to find her standing there in the pale morning sunlight with a bow on her back, ready to depart with them. The Dunedain woman wore her usual dark gray kirtle and shawl though, and at her side was a pleasant faced man with a salt-and-pepper beard and hair.

"Certainly. What is it?" he asked, his eyes travelling over the pair. He was surprised not to have seen this man with the rangers before, or even around the village for that matter.

Nerwen looked Legolas steadily in the eye, her clean bold gaze reminding Legolas a great deal of Strider. "This is my husband, Radanir. He has a request to make of you." She subtly dropped a long-fingered, callused hand to clasp with her husband as they stood beside one another.

"Well met, Legolas of the Woodland Realm." Radanir offered an arm in greeting, which Legolas was quick to take. There was a quiet, distinct sort of dignity about the man which made him a memorable sort.

"And to you as well, Radanir." Legolas replied. "What might you have to ask of me?"

Radanir drew in a slow breath, as though gathering himself. Then, he reached for his belt and unhooked a knife from where it hung. "This blade has been handed down through my family for generations, down from my great-grandfather who was a skilled blacksmith. He made it himself, re-forged from steel saved from the armories of Numenor. All in our family have carried it in their turn…it is a blade meant for missions such as this." The man indicated the gathering of rangers where it swelled in the town's midst. "I would ask that you take it, and use it while north in the wilds of Angmar."

Seeing the handle of the proffered dagger was enough to know that it was a weapon of quality. Not a sword, meant for naming and prominence at the side of a hero, but a symbol of a family's pride. Before reaching out to touch the hilt though, Legolas's eyes flickered upward at Radanir and Nerwen in a questioning look.

It seemed Nerwen knew him well, or at least knew the situation. Laying a hand on her husband's arm, she squeezed. "Radanir would have gone with you and the others on this journey, once. As might have I. An orc raid five years ago changed our courses though…"

Radanir shifted slightly, hiking the leg of his trousers just above the cuff of his boot. Rather than flesh, Legolas saw wood. He wondered just how much of the limb had been lost in the fateful attack.

"Our places have been exchanged somewhat." Rather than self-pity or resentment, there was only calm in Radanir's eyes. "I see mostly to the running of our household, and my strong wife tends to the hunting and gathering." The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "My mending is tidier than hers ever was, and she is a better shot with a bow than I am. It is an arrangement that suits us both well."

The murmuring of the rangers behind them was going silent; the time must be drawing near for them to leave. In recognition of humbling gesture being bestowed upon him by Nerwen and Radanir, Legolas bowed to the couple.

"I would be honored to carry your family's blade north with me. You can be guaranteed, it will see adventure worthy of the ancestors who made and bore it." Extending his hand, Legolas accepted the dagger and in its fine sheath.

Radanir smiled, his dark blue eyes crinkling at the seams. "You have my thanks." Letting go of the knife, he instead found a berth for his hand atop that of Nerwen's on his arm.

"Valar protect you, you and all the others." Nerwen said, dipping her chin gratefully. Then, her step measured to ease Radanir's way, she and her husband turned to seek out other friends in the crowd.

Tying the knife to his belt, Legolas scanned the gathering to assess their numbers. According to Strider, twenty-five had agreed to go on this expedition. He had proposed the idea of ridding the northern lands of as many nests of foul beasts as possible at an assembly in the main hall. All capable rangers had then been free to volunteer, rather than assigned. In the end, Strider had had to put a stop to recruitment at twenty-five. It was a party small enough to move quickly and without undue attention, but large enough to fight.

There was no need for farewell speeches. Everyone knew exactly what this mission meant. It could either buy them a summertime of relative peace, or grief. Every passing minute seemed to put the divide between the two in greater prominence. Spotting Strider standing near the road upon which they would depart, Legolas made his way toward him. Elladan and Elrohir were already at his side, watching all those assembled. Finally, Elladan looked to Strider.

"Everyone is here Estel, we are ready…"

Strider gazed out over the faces of the rangers and their families, the regret that he was not among them plain for all to see.

"I suppose there is no sense in delaying then." He blew out a long breath and turned to the elves. "Travel by day as much as possible, and keep to the ridges. I will look for your return by the first week of summer. If trouble should arise…"

Elrohir cut the young chieftain off. "Just how old do you think we are, _gwador-nin_? Are you more worried about us, or that we might somehow lead your rangers into disaster?"

"Honestly, you would think this was our first foray!" Elladan chuckled, unstringing his bow for travel and setting it into his harness.

Strider managed a small grin that looked more like a grimace. "That is why I am sending Legolas with the both of you. He at least might be able to keep order." A quick wink passed between Strider and Legolas. They all knew that as a prince he had more than his fair share of experience with leadership.

"We will return upon the eve of summertime, Strider." Legolas assured him. "Valar permitting, with good tidings."

"And if all else fails at least know I said 'I told you so'!" Beringil broke in, stepping forward out of the crowd of rangers. "Now, are we leaving today or not?!"

"Go!" Strider called, waving an arm out to the road. "And Eru guard your steps, my friends."


End file.
